


Bed Music

by LowerEastSide



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Astoria Greengrass - Freeform, Consent, Daily Prophet, Daphne Greengrass - Freeform, Frottage, George Weasley - Freeform, Greengrass sisters - Freeform, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Intercrural Sex, Kissing, M/M, Masturbation, Past Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy, Quidditch, Radio, Robert is a sass factory, Sneaky Slytherins, Teddy Lupin - Freeform, Wizarding Wireless Network, brief discussion of sexual assault, brief mentions of bdsm, cameo by American lads, general discussion of sexual topics, sex advice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-03-23 19:23:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 29,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13794561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LowerEastSide/pseuds/LowerEastSide
Summary: The new call-in sex advice show on the WWN is Very Inappropriate, Harry thinks. But he finds himself spending more and more time with Malfoy anyways. Will Draco be able to convince him of the necessity of open discourse on sex, consent, and intimacy? And what are the Greengrass sisters plotting? Caller, go ahead!





	1. Back Announce

**Author's Note:**

> This is for prompt number 47 in the inaugural Consent Fest. 
> 
> So many thanks to KaterineBlack for being a very helpful beta! 
> 
> There is a brief discussion of sexual assault on Draco’s program. It is warned for at the beginning of the relevant chapter. 
> 
> For purposes of this story, all British Quidditch games are held on Friday and World Cup games on Saturday. I have manipulated the Quidditch schedule for my own purposes; let's just assume the Cup is held earlier in the year, now shall we? ::handwave:: Also I'm assuming some bleedover in Muggle terminology to the WWN radio system. 
> 
> Draco's advice is just that: advice. Please contact your doctor before casting Scourgify at your bits.

“And that’s a wrap for this weeks match! Tune in next week when the Harpies go up against the undefeated Montrose Magpies in a bid to advance toward this year’s semifinals. As always, I’m Rhys Broadmore, and this is Quidditch Nightly!”

As the program ended, an advert for Sleek Shaft’s Broom Polish came on, with their familiar jingle. “ _On a Sleek Shaft broom, you can zoom zoom zoom!”_ Harry leaned over to switch off the wireless, but a _whoosh_ at the Floo distracted him.

“Harry! Mate!” Ron’s voice drifted up from the sitting room. Harry left his bedroom, pulling a shirt over his head as he went. “Did you hear?!” Ron was standing outside the fireplace, clearly ecstatic.

“Yeah, I was listening on the wireless, you know that.” Harry answered, just as excited. “Can you believe their winning streak? They’ve got a good chance against the Magpies.”

“I know! And if they hadn’t lost those first two games of the season, they’d be undefeated, too.”

“So would the Cannons, if they’d won _any_ games this season,” Harry said, simply to get a rise out of Ron, but his friend just waved a hand dismissively.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s all about the Harpies this year!”

Ron had good reason to be excited about a team other than his beloved Cannons. It was Ginny’s first year as the captain of the Holyhead Harpies, and they were crushing the competition. Harry and Ron listened to every game, Ron at the Ministry and Harry at his flat, and afterwards they met Hermione at the pub for drinks. It was their weekly routine, and Harry really looked forward to it. It was the only social interaction he got these days. All his friends were extremely busy, and while Harry had his own responsibilities, he sometimes felt lonely when he came home to an empty house.

The pub they’d chosen that week was only a short walk from his house. Harry was pleased to find George and Luna were also waiting there with Hermione.

Rounds were bought and the game discussed, before their food arrived (”Don’t steal my chips this time Ron,” George warned, “I’m starving!) and the conversation turned to catching up on all their respective weeks. Hermione and Luna broke off into a heated discussion of rights for magical creatures who were only rumoured to exist, with Ron acting as referee, and Harry turned to George.

“How’s the new shop going?”

“Oh, it’s excellent! Really great to be back near Hogwarts. Poor McGonagall won’t know what hit her though, after the first Hogsmeade weekend. We’ve got a brand new line of Skiving Snackboxes.”

Harry laughed, fond memories returning to him. “Hogsmeade really seemed amazing back then. Getting a break from school was special. They’re lucky to have your shop now, too.”

“It’s still pretty amazing. The Three Broomsticks is the same as ever, although Rosmerta takes more time off now and leaves it to Lavender. I can personally vouch for the continued sweetness of Honeydukes. And I get to see Lee a lot, since he works up the road at the WWN.”

“That’s right, I always forget their headquarters is there.”

“There’s a lot of interesting new people there, actually. In fact - oi!” Ron had snagged one of George’s chips. He retaliated by taking a sip of his lager, before turning back to Harry. “I’ve been thinking of asking one of the station managers out.”

“Oh?” George had been single since the end of the war. It had taken him a long time to come to terms with Fred’s death.”I’m happy to hear that, mate. What’s she like?”

“She’s a firecracker,” George grinned. “Came in to get a few choice pranks for some new intern to the station. Completely professional, but knows how to joke around. Also stunning.”

“Sounds perfect for you.”

“Yeah, so…” he twirled a chip around before biting it thoughtfully. Swallowing, a determined look came over his face. “You know I hate to ask you for favours.”

“You shouldn’t. We’re family, George.”

“Exactly! So you’ll do it?”

“Sure, I’ll- wait, what is it?”

“Just, I want a reason to go talk to her again, yeah? And she’s really been trying to make a name for herself there. I know an interview with you would go a long way.”

Harry just stared at George. “An _interview_? I never give interviews anymore!” There had been several recent requests with the tenth anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts only months away.

“Which is why it’ll be so impressive!” He turned pleading eyes on Harry. “Come on, mate, I haven’t liked anyone this much in a long time.”

“Look, George…” Harry really hated to say no to him. But he also hated giving interviews. He sighed in resignation. “I’d want to know that she wasn’t going to ask any personal questions. Just stuff about the charities I’m raising for, or the pieces of Hermione’s legislation that I backed. Public stuff.”

“Of course! Daph’s part of the new wave, trying to turn the station away from just being a soapbox for the ministry. She doesn’t care about gossip.” George looked elated. “I’ll owl her and let her know you’re interested.”

“Interested is a bit of an overstatement,” Harry said, shaking his head and stealing a chip just to annoy him.

***

Hanging out with Luna always seemed to make them lose track of time, and it was nearly 1am when they finally departed. Harry Apparated outside his door and immediately tensed. He could hear muffled voices inside the flat. Slowly he opened the door, wand out, only to sigh in relief as he realised it was just the wireless in his bedroom that he’d forgotten to turn off. He made his way upstairs and the voices became clearer.

It was late enough that the WWN had switched over to talk format. Lee Jordan had his show once a week at midnight, where he played an eclectic mix of jazz music, stand up bits, and scathing Quidditch commentary. Sometimes the comedy turned a bit risqué for Harry’s taste. George had told Harry that Lee was actually banned from commentating the live matches, which wasn’t surprising, given his performance at Hogwarts.

This wasn’t Lee’s day, so it must have been one of those call in shows where people complained about politics or their love lives. Sure enough, the first sentence Harry could make out was:

“…I just want to please her, you know? She’s such a wonderful woman.”

“That’s good that you want to. It’s important to not be selfish in bed. She sounds like she’s willing to be patient with you. Learning each other’s bodies is actually one of the most fun parts of a new relationship. Just approach it as exciting, rather than petrifying.”

Harry froze. This was not some lovestruck witches advice show. Both voices were male, the first with a nervous tremor, the second with a smooth lilt. It sounded familiar to Harry, but he couldn’t place it.

“Do you have any advice for what I could do to make her, um… you know?”  


“To bring her to orgasm?”

Harry choked. “Yeah, that.”

“Well, everyone is different. Some women can only achieve orgasm from clitoral stimulation, others need penetration. There are more ways to make a woman come than to open a door. Do you need _Alohomora_ or _Bombarda_?” The caller laughed. “But seriously, the best way is to explore it together. Ask her to masturbate for you, if she’s comfortable with it.”

“What, like in front of me?”

“Absolutely. Pay attention to how she touches herself. And mutual masturbation can be just as satisfying as more traditional sex.”

“Huh. I always thought of that as something to do alone.”

“If it feels good by yourself, it can feel just as good with a partner.”

“That makes sense. Hey, thanks. I think this is really gonna help me.”

“You’re very welcome. Thank you for calling.”

Soft music was raised in volume for a moment, and then lowered, as a third voice with an American accent chimed in. “That’s all the time we have for tonight. Thanks for tuning in to _Intimacy Issues_ on the WWN. If you have any questions for our Professor of Love-”

“-No, Robert. Absolutely not.-”

“-then call us next week. We’re here every Friday at midnight. _Softer Sounds of Soothing Scotland_ is up next, to take you into the night. You’re tuned into WWN, your number one choice on the dial.”

A gentle bagpipe song began playing and Harry realised he’d been standing stock still in his bedroom for the past few minutes. What the hell was that show? How long had it been on? How were they allowed to say that on air?

He knew all those words, but he’d never heard terms for the female anatomy spoken so matter of factly, only in adolescent joking. Everyone on air had spoken so calmly, though, so he knew it wasn’t a comedy bit.

Harry was also no stranger to female pleasure. He’d dated Ginny after all, and she knew how to take what she wanted. But she’d been easily satisfied, and they’d never really been verbal during sex, and especially not outside of it. She had asked Harry if there was anything new he’d like to try in the bedroom once, but he’d blushed and stammered and was grateful when she dropped the subject. He couldn’t imagine discussing it with a perfect stranger.

  


***

The Harpies did indeed win against the Magpies the next week, and the mood at the pub was celebratory.

Harry had thought about asking Ron or Hermione if they’d ever heard the show from last week, but found he couldn’t bring himself to tell them why he cared. He definitely wasn’t going to say _orgasm_ to Hermione.

He arrived home only a few minutes to midnight. Tentatively, Harry flicked on the wireless, turning the dial to channel 1. He told himself it was only to make sure he hadn’t been dreaming last week. It was still five minutes to midnight, and an older Weird Sisters song was playing. Harry finished getting ready for bed and climbed under the covers just as the music program came to an end.

“Hope you enjoyed that little blast from the past. I’ve had a great night, but now I’ll say goodbye as we head into the weekend. Up next, make sure the kiddies are in bed, because it’s time for _Intimacy Issues_. I’m Lucid Lou, and you’re tuned into WWN.”

So Harry hadn’t imagined it. There really was a show called that, and they really did talk about sex. The jaunty tune that Lou had played last continued for a few more seconds before fading down, and the same youngish-sounding American voice that had closed the last program returned.

“Hey everybody, it’s the weekend, which means it’s time again for _Intimacy Issues_. I’m your lowly, put upon intern Robert, and the Love Guru-

“-I _will_ fire you, Robert-”

“-is here to answer your questions. Dude, think of a better name and I’ll use it.”

“You’re the intern. You do it.”

“I try!”

“Try harder.”

Robert laughed and continued. “Ok, so for those of you just tuning in, this is how it works. Call our Floo at WWN and ask us your question. We’ve got a privacy screen up, so no one sees anyone’s face. All perfectly safe, all perfectly anonymous. You can be explicit, but always be respectful.” A soft _whoosh_ sounded in the background. “Looks like we’ve got our first caller! Caller, go ahead.”

After a beat came a tentative “Hello?”

“Hello,” the British voice answered. “What’s on your mind tonight?”

“Well, my boyfriend…” The girl trailed off, prompting an encouraging “go on, it’s ok” from the host.

“When we have sex, I’m always worried about getting pregnant. I just don’t trust the spells, you know? And I know there’s a potion, but it’s always made me sick. So I asked him if he’d use condoms - they’re a Muggle thing, they go on the um, penis, and catch the uh, stuff…”

“I know what they are, but thanks for explaining for any listeners who don’t.”

“Well he won’t do it!” She sounded angry. “He says they feel weird, but I know it’s because he’s Pure-blood and just doesn’t like them since they’re Muggle. And that makes me feel shitty, because I’m Muggleborn! So I told him we weren’t having sex until he gave in, so _he_ said fine, he’ll just find a witch who _will_ put out, and we haven’t spoken in a week!” She paused to catch her breath. “Do you think I was unreasonable?”

“Well first, I want to address what he said to you about ‘putting out.’ That was rather rude. Relationships aren’t all about sex. Have the two of you been together long?”

“Two years, but we only started having sex a few months ago.”

“Hmm. It’s possible he just said that in anger and doesn’t mean it. It doesn’t make it ok, of course, and he should apologise for it. Ask him how he would feel if you implied you only valued him for sex.”

“Yeah. I don’t think he was serious.”

“The other pressing issue here is birth control. If the potion makes you sick, it’s not an option. Can you tell me why you don’t trust contraception spells? They have been proven to be nearly 98% effective when cast competently.”

“I can’t see it, though. The only way you know it fails is if you get knocked up, and then it’s too late. You can see if a condom breaks.  And I’m used to them. I’ve known about condoms since I was a little girl.”

“Do you know what I think?” the host asked. “I think maybe you both have the same reasons. He was raised around magic, so he trusts the spell. You weren’t, so you trust Muggle condoms - which, incidentally, have about the same failure rate when used correctly.”

“I didn’t know that,” she said, surprised.

“If you both trust your casting skills, either method is equally effective. The issue here is what you are comfortable with. Have you told him your concerns that he’s prejudiced unfairly against them, and how that makes you feel about your background?”

Quietly, she answered “No.”

“That’s the first step, then. It’s something you need to discuss before moving forward. It is possible he distrusts them simply because they are Muggle, which would be unfortunate. But he might just be scared of their failure. Also, condoms do have a feeling that some men describe as strange, but they don’t dull sensation so much that sex isn’t perfectly enjoyable.”

“Have you ever used one?” There was a beat, and then a sharp bark of laughter from Robert the intern, making Harry think the two hosts had exchanged some sort of non-verbal gesture.

“Ah, no, I’ve always used spells for contraception or protection from STDs.”

“Are you Pure-blood, then?” she enquired.

Another beat. “I prefer not to get into too many details about myself. This is about answering your question after all.” Harry thought there was no way the host was Pure-blood. He was too knowledgeable about Muggle prophylactics and not enough of a prude.

“Sorry,” the caller apologised.

“It’s quite alright.”

“Anyways, I think you’re right, I should have told him I was worried about what he thought. Thanks”

“I hope it works out for you. Thank you for calling.”

A small musical interlude began playing, and Harry felt his eyes grow tired. Part of him wanted to keep listening, but another part was ashamed. It wasn’t his business whether a stranger used a condom or not. This program felt totally voyeuristic. The hosts were probably laughing at everyone as soon as the mic was off.

Determined to forget about it, Harry switched off the dial and went to bed.

***

The next week, all the Quidditch teams going to the semi-finals had a break, and Harry was watching Teddy, so pub night was out. They had a lovely day together going to the park and a small Muggle zoo. Teddy was nearing ten and well able to keep his hair from changing colour in front of the Muggles. He was still a ball of energy, though, and Harry was exhausted by the time they arrived home. After takeaway and a movie he started to fall asleep on the couch. He’d still not bothered to get a flat bigger than one bedroom - what was the point? - so he sent Teddy upstairs to sleep in his bed.

Sometime in the night, he was awoken by hushed voices.

 _Is Teddy on a Floo call_? he wondered groggily. A quick _Tempus_ charm told him it was after midnight, so he doubted that. He fumbled around for his glasses and made his way upstairs, curious.

Through the door he could hear that same soft, posh voice that had plagued him before.

“…you enjoy the loss of control?”

“I mean, I guess. But that’s scary. What if he hurts me?” a male voice with a Scottish accent asked.

“Do you think he would do so on purpose?”

“No. But if I’ve given him permission to do whatever-”

“Listen. BDSM is not ‘permission to do whatever.’ There are roles and rules within any scene. You work out your boundaries and safe words ahead of time, and respect them.”

 _Safe words_?! Harry threw the door open.

“What the hell are you listening to?” It was a rhetorical question. Harry knew exactly what he was listening to. He stomped over to the wireless and flipped it off.

“I didn’t mean to!” Teddy cried out. “I couldn’t sleep, and I thought Lee might be on.” His eyes went wide - he knew he wasn’t supposed to listen to Lee’s show, either - and he shook a little. Harry immediately calmed down. He wasn’t going to be the kind of godparent who yelled.

“I’m sorry, Teddy. That stuff just isn’t appropriate.”

“Oh.” Teddy bit his lip. “Is it wrong?”

“It’s-” _It’s dirty_ , he wanted to say, but he also didn’t want Teddy to think _all_ sex was dirty. Merlin, he didn’t want Teddy to think about sex at all. Why did kids have to grow up?

“Sex isn’t wrong. But it’s a personal thing. I don’t know why those people like talking about it on air.” He sat down on the bed next to Teddy. “Someday when you’re older you’ll learn about all that and share it with someone special to you. In private.”

“Ok.” He looked up at Harry. “I thought you might be mad because it was about two boys.”

“Why would I be mad about _that_?”

“Well, Zoey Smith at school says it’s gross. She says they shouldn’t send queers Hogwarts letters.”

“That isn’t true. And most people don’t agree.” Teddy went to a half day school for pre-Hogwarts kids, and Harry would bet an arm that ‘Zoey Smith’ was somehow related to Zacharias, the prat.

Teddy shifted uncomfortably on the bed. “But we don’t know any, do we?”

Harry emphatically did _not_ want to have the sex talk with Teddy, about boys _or_ girls. But he didn’t want to let little prejudicial brats have the last word, either.

“Look, next time Zoey Smith starts talking like that, you tell her the best Headmaster Hogwarts ever had was gay.” Teddy’s eyes went round. He then deflated a little. “Yeah, but Dumbledore’s dead.”

Harry sighed. “Ted, can you keep a secret?” The boy nodded quickly. Harry only called him ‘Ted’ when he was being very serious. “Ok. Now, remember what I said about things being private. But your Uncle Harry has gone on dates with boys.”

“You’re gay?” Teddy gasped.

“No,” Harry corrected him. “I go on dates with girls, too. People don’t have to pick.”

“Wow.” Teddy was lost in his thoughts for a minute, and then yawned. Harry ruffled his hair.

“Get back to bed. I’ll make pancakes in the morning.”

“’Kay.” Teddy crawled under the covers, his hair slowly fading from the pale lavender it had affected when Harry burst into the room back to his customary blue. Harry wanted to lean in to give him a kiss, but knew he might be swatted away. Teddy thought he was too old for kisses now. So he settled for giving him a squeeze on the shoulder, and then turning out the light on his way back downstairs.

He wondered if he should tell Andromeda. On one hand, she was Teddy’s real caretaker, and she deserved to know he had been asking questions. But Harry also didn’t want to have to let her know her grandson had been listening to a radio program about bondage and domination.

Harry fumed.  If it weren’t for that blasted sex show, he wouldn’t have this problem in the first place.

***

The owl from George arrived a few days later, with a request.

_Daphne says thanks for offering to give her an interview. She thinks a preliminary meeting would be best so you feel comfortable. She’s in her office any day after 2pm at the WWN, just ask for Greengrass. You’re a true mate! Pretty sure she’ll say yes to dinner after this._

Harry shook his head. Greengrass? The Slytherin? George was barking. True, Harry couldn’t recall too much about her, other than she’d hung around with Parkinson and the other snooty girls in her house, and had been such an exceptional priss it’d earned her a nickname. But he couldn’t remember her past 5th year. Maybe she’d changed. The rest of them weren’t the same as when they were fifteen, after all. He sent an owl ahead to the station, saying Thursday was good for him.

It had been a long time since Harry set foot in Hogsmeade. The WWN building was at the end of a long winding path, set back from the shops. A strange network of large spinning dishes projected from the roof, which Harry surmised were the magical equivalent of radio equipment. There was no bell to ring on the door, just a lobby with a receptionist, a boy who barely looked out of Hogwarts and was sporting a small, orange mohawk. He glanced up at Harry and did a double take.

“I didn’t think she was serious!”

“Er, I’m here to see-”

“Yeah, you’re here to see Daphne. Blimey, when she said to stay awake at the desk today because Harry Potter was coming by, I thought she was having me on.” He gestured toward one of several doors that led to different hallways. “Go on in, she’s expecting you, I guess.”

The sign on the frosted glass read _News, Educational and Talk Programming_. Behind it were even more doors.  Harry walked past several that looked like offices, and what was obviously a recording booth. There was no one at the mic, and he wondered what was currently on the air. A few doors from the end he came to a placard that read _Head of NET_ _Programming - Daphne Greengrass_. There were voices inside. Harry knocked lightly on the glass.

“Come in!” a muffled voice shouted. He opened the door and say a tiny blond woman standing with her arms akimbo, angrily facing a Floo.

“I told you that wasn’t an option!” Daphne looked positively livid. “I don’t care how many adverts they’ve bought over the years, it doesn’t exempt them from investigative reporting! WWN isn’t at anyone’s beck and call anymore, and certainly not your client’s!” The red-faced older wizard in the fire - at least, Harry assumed he was red-faced, the Floo cast everyone in a sickly shade of green - sputtered in rage.

“Now see here, Miss Greengrass, I know the Ministry has let you _children_ run out of control over there, but that’s no excuse to get above your station!” It was the wrong thing to say. Daphne’s eyes narrowed, and she stalked closer to the Floo.

“If you truly think we’re only children playing at this, then your client has nothing to fear.” The angry wizard opened his mouth to throw back another retort, but she cut him off with a “Good Day!” and extinguished the Floo with her wand.

With a huff of frustration, she turned back to Harry. “Sorry you had to see that,” she said with a forced smile. “Some people think their money can get them out of anything. Thank you for coming, Mr. Potter. Please, do sit down.”

In the past, Harry had been accused of being unobservant, and it wasn’t without merit. But since getting more involved with charities and the ins and outs of fundraising he’d come to be much better at reading people. And what he gleaned from the scene he’d just witnessed was this: Daphne had invited him in on purpose. She could have told him to wait in the hall, but she wanted him to see her argument. She wanted to look in control, principled, and far from the idea of rich Pure-bloods buying their way out of trouble. All in all, it was a display calculated to impress Harry, and a very Slytherin thing to do.

Normally Harry didn’t like being manipulated, but he had to admit that he didn’t think she was presenting herself in a false light if what George had told him about her was true. So he let her have her moment and sat down as requested.

“Let’s get right to it, shall we?” Her smile turned pleasant as she took out a piece of parchment and, Harry noted with interest, a Muggle pen. “It’s the tenth anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts this year, and while I’m sure neither of us wants to dwell on the past too much, people are hoping for some sort of remembrance. An interview with you about what strides we’ve made since that time would be most appreciated.”

 _Yeah, for your ratings,_ Harry thought, but decided to be gracious. “I won’t go into details about my personal life, but I’m happy to talk about some of the effects of the legislation Hermione has passed or the charities I support. I really don’t think it’ll be all that interesting to your listeners. They already know most of that stuff.”

“Yes, but hearing it from you will get them tuned in. So, ok, no personal details. Got it. I’ll take any questions about your family or romantic life off the table. As she’s involved in the legislation you mentioned, I may ask about Hermione Granger, in a professional capacity of course. Do you consider light questions about your hobbies or sports to be personal?”

Harry blinked. This was much easier than dealing with any reporters he’d encountered in the past. “Er, not really.”

“Excellent. Are there any products you object to on the sponsor breaks? For example, if you are vegetarian, we won’t air any spots for Hornbergs Humdinger Hams.” Harry shook his head no. “Alright then. I think that about covers the basics. This will be a live interview, so you don’t have to worry about creative edits or any Quick-Quotes Quills.” Harry didn’t miss the dig at Rita Skeeter.

“Finally, there will be no one else allowed in the studio except station personnel. I’ll be conducting the interview, but if there is anyone who works here at the station you’d like to sit in, that is acceptable.”

“Lee’s the only one I know here. We haven’t talked in a few months, but I’ve listened to his show. Could he interview me?”

She didn’t appear offended at the request, but denied it smoothly. “Lee is on holiday this month.”

“Then no, I can’t think of anyone.”

She made a couple more notes, and stood up, holding her hand out. “Thank you for coming in, Mr. Potter. I look forward to this interview.”

Harry stood as well and took her hand. She had a very firm shake. “It doesn’t sound like it’ll be too bad, Greengrass- um, Miss Gree-”

“Daphne, please,” she said, cutting off his attempt to figure out what name to use.

“Harry’s fine, then. They don’t call you Queenie, anymore?” he grinned. She rolled her eyes.

“Ugh. My sister started that.”

“I didn’t know you had a sister.” Harry hadn’t kept track of the Slytherins who weren’t in his year very well.

Daphne raised an eyebrow. “You missed her glorious run on the society pages? She’ll be so disappointed.”

“If it was in the _Prophet_ , I didn’t see it. They haven’t changed one bit, as far as I know, so I don’t read it.”

“No, they haven’t,” she agreed. “In fact, the way those vultures treated Astoria was one of the reasons I’m committed to pursuing a better form of journalism.”

“If she’s anything like you, I’m sure they regretted it. You’re kind of scary.” Daphne threw her head back and laughed. “She ignored it for the most part. Couldn’t care less about her public face, that one. Usually has her nose in a book. Anyways, as soon as she stopped dating Draco they lost interest in her.”

Harry froze. “Malfoy? She was dating _Malfoy_? What’d he do to her?”

Daphne let out a disgusted sigh. “Don’t _tell_ me the two of you still carry on. Do to her, indeed. He didn’t do anything, they’re still best friends. They just weren’t suited as a couple, he’s-” She cut off. “Well. That’s between you and Draco.”

“I don’t think I’ll be talking to Malfoy about his love life any time soon, thanks.”

She regarded him for a moment with amusement in her eyes, and Harry felt like there was a joke he wasn’t getting. “I’m sure.” She moved around the desk towards the door. “Well, thank you again for coming in, Harry. I’m off to lunch.” He opened the door and held it for her, feeling silly as he did, but he was closer. She locked it behind them, then turned to him suddenly.

“Most of the station will be leaving now for lunch as well, so if you want to avoid the crush feel free to continue on down through the back entrance.”

“Yeah, thanks. I think I will.”

With a jaunty little wave goodbye, she left him standing in the hallway. He could see why George liked her - she was rather pretty, and full of fire. Still, as he turned to leave, Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow he’d been played.

There were still several doors left to pass on the way to the back entrance. One was another office, this time with Lee’s name on the placard, and another looked to be an equipment room. But the last door was open, revealing a small studio with several microphones, a strange tangle of wires, and two men. Their backs were turned to Harry as they examined a cork board. One was a short, skinny wizard with long, brown hair, who was levitating note cards to different positions on the board.

The other was unmistakably Draco Malfoy.

Harry made a small ‘eep!’ noise, but it was enough to be heard. Both Malfoy and his companion turned around, and Malfoy’s eyes went wide with shock. He looked very unhappy to see Harry.

“Potter? What the hell are you doing here?”

The instant he spoke, the gears in Harry’s mind whirled, and he put two and two together. _That voice! In a radio station!_

“You’re the Love Professor!” he blurted out. The short wizard dissolved into laughter, and Malfoy stormed over to the door.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Get out. You aren’t allowed to be back here.”

“Daphne let me in.” Belatedly, Harry realised that she must have known he would see Malfoy on his way out. She probably thought it was hilarious. She and George were perfect for each other.

The other man - boy, actually, as now that Harry could see his face he looked no older than 18 - glanced between him and Malfoy nervously. “Should I Obliviate him, Drake?”

“Robert. I know you are American, but _that_ is Harry Potter. Harry. Potter.” At Robert’s blank look, Malfoy gestured towards Harry’s scar. He was beginning to feel on display.

Robert looked at his forehead and shrugged. Malfoy pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked like he had a headache coming on. “Whatever. Just never pull a wand on him. Although if you ever call me ‘Drake’ again, _I’ll_ Obliviate _you_.” Robert put his hands up in a placating manner. “Yeah, sure dude.”

Malfoy turned back to Harry. “I know we aren’t friends, Potter, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone about this.”

“What, that you’re the perverted DJ on the night shift?”

“Perverted?!”

“Malfoy, I caught a kid with the radio on during that… stuff you talk about! He’s only 10! How is that allowed on the air?”

“It’s past the watershed! It’s not my fault you can’t keep your child in bed.”

“He’s not my - that’s not the point. How are you even qualified to know all that?” As soon has he asked, Harry went red. He didn’t actually need to know how Malfoy was qualified to talk about the decidedly sexual things he discussed on air.

Malfoy noticed his blush, and smirked. “Oh. I see.”

“See what?”

“Look. I don’t want this to be a problem. I know how you get.  Are you free tonight?”

Harry’s mouth opened, but no words came out.

“I’ll take that as a yes. I’ll meet you at the Silent Jarvey in Diagon at 8, if that’s acceptable.” Draco didn’t wait for confirmation; he stepped back and swung the door shut in Harry’s face.

For a full minute, Harry simply stood in the hallway. Eventually he remembered to shut his mouth. He thought about knocking on the door again and telling Malfoy that no, it wasn’t acceptable, under no circumstances was he going to have a drink with him, but he somehow knew that Malfoy wouldn’t take no for an answer. The thought of sitting down for a conversation with Malfoy after years of not seeing him except in passing on Diagon Alley was surreal, but his curiosity had been peaked. Was Malfoy going to try to convince Harry not to reveal his identity? And what did he mean by “I know how you get?”

There was really only one way to find out.

***

The Silent Jarvey was one of a number of new businesses that had sprung up in the years after the war, taking advantage of Ministry incentives aimed at growing the post-war economy. It was nicer inside than the Leaky Cauldron, but far from fancy. A number of booths lined the back wall, perfect for a private conversation. It wasn’t terribly busy, being a weekday, and there were only about ten people inside. Harry spotted Malfoy’s distinctive white-blond hair at one of the booths and made his way over.

Malfoy glanced up from perusing the menu. “I assume you’ve already eaten dinner. I thought I might order a small plate to accompany whatever ale this place serves. Do you have a preference?”

“Chips? I guess? I didn’t actually eat dinner, I kind of forgot. Why did you want me to meet you here?”

“I’ll get to that, Potter. Food first. The platter is rather a lot, but I suppose if you’re really hungry you can just eat most of it. What are you drinking?”

“Lager?” Harry didn’t know why he was answering everything in the form of a question. Draco tapped his wand on several parts of the menu and set it aside.

“That will all arrive in a few minutes. Sit down, you’re making me nervous.”

Harry slid into the booth across from Malfoy. “Are you going to tell me what this is all about?”

“First tell me why you were at the station today. Were you looking for me?”

“No! I had a meeting with Daphne. She’s going to interview me next week.”

Malfoy looked surprised. “Harry Potter, infamous avoider of the press, voluntarily giving an interview? I wasn’t aware you were friends with Daphne. You certainly weren’t in school.”

“I’m not. She doesn’t seem all that bad though. Maybe a little frightening, but she was fine to deal with. Not like most reporters.” Draco snorted.

“Don’t let her hear you call her a mere ‘reporter.’ That woman runs the department with an iron fist. She was never that intimidating when we were young, I don’t know where she’d been hiding it.”

“You must know her pretty well. You dated her sister.”

“Don’t believe everything you read in the _Prophet_ , Potter.”

“I never read it. Daphne told me, that’s all.”

“So you _were_ asking about me.”

“I wasn’t!” Harry was getting irritated. “Not everything is about you, Malfoy. I had no idea you worked there.”

“But you’ve heard my show.”

“Yeah, your _dirty_ show.”

“It’s not-” Malfoy snapped, but was his retort was cut off by the arrival of their food and drinks, which floated over to the table. There was a plate of piping hot chips, a platter of several meats, cheeses, and breads, a nutty brown lager for Harry and a dark beer with a thick head for Malfoy. He took a sip, a bit of froth clinging to his top lip. They sat in silence for a few minutes as Harry dug into the platter - he really had been hungry. “Go on then,” he said eventually, gesturing at Malfoy with a chip. “You were telling me how your show isn’t dirty.”

“It _isn’t_. Sex isn’t dirty.”

“Maybe not, but how’d you gather talking about that stuff on the radio was a good idea?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Did you ask me here just to tell it to me? I don’t much care how you got into it. I just think it’s weird.”

“You say you don’t, but you obsess, Potter. I’ve seen it. You’re like a dog with a bone, and I know that if I don’t explain myself you’ll run all over creation telling your little friends how Draco Malfoy is a pervert, getting his kicks by telling lurid stories on the wireless, and it’s not like that.”

“How is it, then?”

Malfoy leaned back with a sigh, and took another sip of his beer. He seemed to be considering the best way to begin. “I did date Astoria. Daphne had a little soiree when she first got promoted at the station, 4 years back. I somehow found myself on the guest list. I didn’t really know anyone else there and I hadn’t been close to Daphne in school, so I ended up drinking in a corner. Astoria isn’t much of a social butterfly, and there were a limited amount of corners, so we spent most of the night just talking to each other and avoiding everyone else.”

“And love blossomed among the outcasts?”

Malfoy laughed sharply. “Hardly. No, we actually discussed how when we were younger, she’d been on my parent’s shortlist of candidates for betrothal.”

“Wait, an arranged marriage?” Malfoy nodded.

“Of course, the idea of contracts went out the window along with our status after the war. I joked that she’d dodged a bullet, and she said I didn’t seem all that bad. I said considering all the other options, she didn’t either. It wasn’t very romantic, but… I guess the idea of what might have been intrigued her. She asked me out to dinner, and I said yes.”

“I sort of always assumed you’d end up with Pansy,” Harry admitted.

A troubled expression fell over Malfoy’s face. “No one talks to Pansy anymore. I was worried about her, actually, but Daphne found out that she’s just gone to Amsterdam and is working over there. Something to do with fashion. Either way, she’s cut herself off from everyone here, and there’s not much to be done about it.”

“Oh.” Harry couldn’t say he was upset to hear that Pansy Parkinson was out of Britain. He’d no idea what he’d say to her if they ever saw each other again. “So why didn’t it work out with Astoria?”

“Nothing terrible happened. We’re still very good friends. We just…” Malfoy paused to nibble a piece of cheese, before continuing.  “This is part of the long story. Astoria and I became very close, emotionally, but that physical spark never really materialised. There were a lot of things I hadn’t really admitted to myself. She’s the kind of woman who likes to make sure she’s given something a proper go before giving up, though, so we decided to try some things to create that spark.”

Harry was pretty sure he knew what Malfoy was alluding to. “You mean you weren’t attracted to each other.”

“She’s very pretty, and I’m, well, me, so there was definitely a visual appreciation.” Malfoy smirked when Harry rolled his eyes. “But yes. The sex just wasn’t very good. So we tried to spice it up, went to a few clubs.”

“Like sex clubs?” Harry was becoming uncomfortable with the direction this conversation was going. “I don’t think I need to hear details, Malfoy.”

“And I’m not going to give them. Suffice it to say, we came to a number of realisations. Astoria likes being in charge, and I like men.”

He let the admission hang in the air between them.

“You’re - you’re gay?” Harry finally choked out.

“Yes,” Malfoy nodded. “Well, mostly.”

Harry was confused. “I thought that ‘gay’ was pretty clear cut.”

“It doesn’t have to be. Sexuality is a delicate, nuanced thing. And that’s what I learned from going to places where sex was discussed frankly, was practised without apology. Coming to terms with and accepting parts of myself that I had never acknowledged changed my life for the better. It was scary, at first,” he admitted. “I was like you. I didn’t think sex should be talked about in the open. I thought it was wrong.”

“I don’t think sex is wrong, Malfoy. I just think…”

“That it should be hidden, or shameful?”

“I’m not a prude!”

Malfoy eyed him shrewdly. “Maybe not. But you are frightened of confronting it with other people.”

“Is that why you ended up with a radio show about sex, then? You thought everyone should confront it?”

“Actually, it was Daphne’s idea. She wanted to pull the ‘protective big sister, kick the ex’s arse’ whole deal on me after the breakup. The press didn’t know about our private life, of course, but they weren’t particularly kind to Astoria when they found out she was my girlfriend, and I know Daphne resented me for it. So Astoria told her everything that happened to convince her that it wasn’t either of our faults. It just didn’t work out.”

“Because you’re ‘mostly’ gay.”

“Because our needs and desires in a relationship don’t line up,” he corrected. “And we never would have known that if we hadn’t owned up to those desires and spoke about them honestly. We would have either continued in an unfulfilled relationship, or we would have become angry and resentful and broken up spectacularly, and not remained friends.”

“I guess I see what you mean,” Harry said slowly. “But talking with your girlfriend is different than talking to the whole world about it.”

“Not everyone has someone to talk with. Some people don’t even know where to look for the answers to their questions, or what questions to ask in the first place. After speaking with Astoria and I, Daphne decided this just was the sort of thing for the new direction she wanted to take the WWN. She actually asked Astoria to host, but she’s a solicitor, and she’s far too busy. I’m a layabout, and I don’t need the money, so Daphne can keep me off the books and preserve anonymity.”

“So you do find something shameful about it,” Harry accused.

“Hardly,” Malfoy countered. “But to answer the questions people call me with, they need to have no preconceived notion of who I am. It’s not about me as a personality. And yes, I also acknowledge that who I am would be a detriment. I’m not exactly Britain’s most popular wizard. It would cause Daphne no end of grief if the _Prophet_ found out she’d put me on air at all, let alone doing something that makes so many people uncomfortable.”

“I can only imagine.” Harry finished off his lager and snagged another chip. It really did seem like Malfoy had good intentions. And the way he described his personal feelings on sex sounded more like the self-help books Hermione had tried to give him after his break up with Ginny, rather than anything salacious.

“So basically you’re saying that being honest about sex made your life better, and you’re just trying to pass the favour along?.”

“That’s a rather simplistic way of describing it, but yes, essentially. Do you understand now?”

Harry pushed the plate of greasy chips away before he ate the entire thing. “I’m not gonna give you up, if that’s what you’re worried about. And your motives aren’t so bad. But I still think some things are better left as private.”

Malfoy laughed, and some of the tension seemed to bleed from his body. “A ringing endorsement from Harry Potter. ‘Not so bad.’ Thank you for hearing me out,” he continued with a more serious tone. “And thank you for keeping my secret.”

“I should really make you be the one to answer Teddy’s questions next time he sneaks out of bed late, in return.”

“I am sorry about that. What did he hear, if I may ask?”

“Um.” Harry went beet red.”It was something about safe words.”

“Ah. Yes, I agree that’s too advanced for a child of, what, ten is he now?”

Sometimes Harry forgot that Malfoy was Teddy’s cousin. It made sense that he would know what age Teddy was. “He’s almost ten, yeah.”

“Well, safe words aside, you should at least have a conversation with him about consent, if you haven’t already. He’ll be going to Hogwarts in the fall, and I think you know how lacking the sex education was there.”

“He’s way too young to be thinking about having sex.”

“Consent isn’t just about having sex.”

“I’m sure Andromeda will tell him what he needs to know.” Malfoy looked sceptical, but didn’t push it.

“You know,” Harry said tentatively, “he is your cousin. You can come by and meet him sometime, if you want.”

Malfoy’s eyes widened in pleased shock. “I would like that.”

“We’re having a birthday party for him at Andromeda’s this weekend, actually. You should come.”

“Can I bring Astoria?” Malfoy asked nervously. “I do appreciate the invite. Only, I’ve never met my aunt either, and I’m not sure how she’ll respond to my presence. I’d like some backup.”

“Yeah, that should be fine. Can you two not talk about any of this stuff while you’re there?”

“We do know how to hold a conversation that doesn’t revolve around fucking, yes,” he said sardonically, and Harry knew he was just trying to get a rise out of him.

“Well, good, because it’s even less appropriate for a child’s birthday party than it is on the radio.” Malfoy pursed his lips, but didn’t respond to the taunt. He tapped his wand on the menu again, and a bill appeared. Harry reached for it, but Malfoy snatched it up first.

“I invited you, it’s my treat.” He laid a few coins on the bill and tapped it again, causing it to vanish.

As they exited the pub, Malfoy turned to Harry. “You know,” he said curiously, “I thought you would have been more shocked at my admission of homosexuality than you were, considering how conservative as you seem to be.”

Finally, Harry had something that could unbalance Malfoy, who had seemed far too composed throughout their conversation. “You obviously don’t read the _Prophet_ , either,” he said smugly.

“I like to avoid it. As do you, you said.”

“I don’t read it, no. But it was difficult to ignore their photographers when they stuck a camera in my face when I was on a date with Terry Boot.”

Malfoy’s speechless face was its own reward. After all these years, it was still satisfying to feel like he’d won something against Malfoy, even if it was childish.

“I’ll see you at Teddy’s party!” he said gleefully, before turning to Apparate away.


	2. Feedback

When Teddy's party arrived, Harry began to feel nervous about inviting Malfoy. He asked Andromeda if she was upset - she'd never renewed ties with Narcissa, after all - but she said she trusted Harry’s judgement.

“Maybe it was a bad idea,” Harry told Hermione as they were setting up the snacks table. “He wasn't too much of a shit when we talked but he's still Malfoy.”

“Why were you speaking to him anyways?” she asked suspiciously. “I know he's always intrigued you-”

“Intrigued?!”

“-but you haven't talked to him in years. He tries to keep a low profile. Doesn't always work, of course. Reporters still wonder about him.”

“I saw him when I talked to Daphne Greengrass for George,” Harry said cagily. “Oh, and he's bringing Astoria.”

“I thought they broke up.”

“Am I the only one who held to that boycott of the _Prophet?_ Anyways, he's Teddy’s family, it just sort of occurred to me to ask.”

Hermione looked thoughtful. “Draco is very different these days. I've seen him at a few Ministry gatherings and he seems quiet.”

“Why would he be at a Ministry party?”

“Astoria has argued several cases before the Wizengamot. She brought him as a date. And that's how I know they broke up,” she added, “not any betrayal of our vaunted boycott.”

Harry flicked a Bertie Bott’s bean at her and she retaliated in kind. He snatched it out of the air before it could hit him. “Seekers reflexes,” she laughed.

“Did you hear if Ginny was coming?”

She shook her head. “No, get this -  she has a fashion shoot.”

Harry couldn’t contain his laughter. “You're joking!”

“No! Some women's mag on the continent wants her on the cover since the Harpies are going to the Cup.”

“I feel for them. Gin couldn't sit still if her life depended on it.”

The Floo began to _woosh_ as people arrived and Teddy came bounding over to greet the stream of guests. It was mostly his friends from school, along with George, Luna, and Fleur and Victoire. They'd be having another small dinner at the Weasley’s the next day. Eventually Malfoy stepped through with a blond woman at his side. Harry could tell right away that she was related to Daphne, but she wore glasses and was shorter. Her eyes darted around, taking in the scene, but she didn’t seem nervous.

Andromeda made her way over to the pair and nodded to Malfoy, who ducked his head in an anxious manner that Harry found almost endearing. He handed over a small bag that was likely a present for Teddy, and Astoria presented Andromeda with a bottle of wine. The older woman smiled and gestured for them to follow her to the kitchen.

Harry lost track of Malfoy in the excitement of the cake cutting and present distribution. After the children had been herded outside to play with an array of new toys, the adults began drinking. Eventually Harry found himself on the porch alone, until a peevish looking Malfoy managed to corner him.

“Potter! I have a bone to pick with you.”

“What now, Malfoy?”

“The other day, when we were talking. When you said gay was ‘clear-cut.’ Why were you playing dumb with me? If you've dated men and women, you obviously understand.”

Harry stood there in shock. Malfoy hadn't even tried to segue into the conversation gently. At least he was speaking quietly, albeit a bit to close for Harry's comfort. He choked out a response.

“But that’s _bisexual_ , not gay. I’d never call myself gay just because I date men.”

“Merlin, Potter, how can you be so open about some things and so thick about others?”

“Well what the hell does ‘mostly’ gay mean then?”

“I was trying to spare your little fragile mind from the nuances of my identity.”

“I’m not fragile!”

“Fine then! I am only sexually attracted to men, I’m romantically attracted to both men and women, and I’ll participate in scenes with either.”

“…Scenes?” Harry said faintly. Something about Malfoy hissing the words “sexually attracted to men” so close to his face had Harry’s heart pounding.

“Homosexual, biromantic,” Malfoy said with a flourish. “And scenes, you know, with a dom or a sub. Although that’s really more Astoria’s thing. There, now you know.” He looked away, muttering under his breath. “I’m not really sure why I felt the need to tell you that.”

“I don’t either,” Harry said, shifting back and forth a bit uncomfortably. “But er, yeah… now I know.”

“When were you in the _Prophet_ with Boot, anyways?”

“Three years ago.”

“Ah,” Malfoy nodded. “That's when they were hounding Astoria about me and I began to shun them in earnest. Still, seems like such a big story I would have at least heard gossip.”

“Honestly, I was just giving you shit before,” Harry admitted. “They ran one picture, just said “Potter out for a night on the town.” I spent a week terrified I'd just been outed, but Hermione said they were too worried to be sued for slander so they wouldn't come out and say anything directly. It blew over since they never saw us together again.”

Malfoy simply looked at him knowingly. “I bet you've only dated Muggles since then.”

Harry sighed deeply. “I'm not ashamed,” he bit out. “It's just no one's business.”

“It's ok, Potter,” Malfoy answered in a strangely kind voice. “Obviously _I'm_ not ashamed, either, but I date Muggles, too.”

Harry realised it must be just as novel for Malfoy to be able to open up to someone he knew, who also knew who _he_ was, as it was for Harry. They had both become intensely private people after the war. Maybe that was why Harry found himself discussing things with Malfoy he'd never spoken of before; everything had become backed up and was now spilling out of him.

They paused, watching Teddy, Victoire and several other children from Teddy’s school playing with a practice Quaffle across the yard. Teddy looked happy, his hair a bright pink to match the streamers dangling from the porch. Harry glanced over at Malfoy, who was watching the scene with a look of contentment.

“Are you glad you came?” he asked. Malfoy nodded.

“Yes, I am. I doubt my aunt and mother will ever speak again, there’s too much bad blood there, but it’s nice to know I’m not alone. Teddy’s a sweet child, isn’t he?”

“He is,” Harry agreed.

“I’m sorry about the other day, when you said he heard my program. I’m sure that must have been awkward for you.”

“Yeah, well…” Harry took a sip from the bottle of Muggle lager that George had brought. He noticed Malfoy had a bottle, too. “What exactly did you mean when you said I should discuss consent with Teddy?”

Malfoy turned to him with a serious expression. “Consent isn’t just about having sex. It’s about the boundaries we set for ourselves, and the way we respect other people’s boundaries. It’s about ownership of our own bodies. Just because he isn’t having sex, doesn’t mean he shouldn’t be confident to tell someone ‘no.’”

“You mean like-” Harry lowered his voice to a whisper. “You mean like child molestation?”

“That’s a concern, sure, but not just something as awful as that.  A kiss, a hug - it all involves consent. A child needs to know they can tell an overbearing grandmother not to squeeze them or demand a kiss at a family gathering. And that then extends into their adult life when they do begin navigating physical relationships.”

“Huh. Yeah, that makes sense. Never thought about it.”

“You never had a dear auntie force a cuddle on your at Christmas dinner?”

“I didn’t grow up with any physical affection,” Harry said uncomfortably.

“I see.” It seemed as if Malfoy was going to say something else, but he shook his head and returned to the previous subject. “It’s even more important for boys to learn about consent, since society tells them to chase girls and take what they want. Although,” he said thoughtfully, “I shouldn’t just assume how Teddy identifies.”

“Identifies?”

“He inherited my cousin’s abilities, did he not? Many Metamorphmagi identify as genderfluid.”

Harry placed his head in his hands. “I don’t know what half the words you say even mean, Malfoy.” He was met with laughter, but when he looked back up, he could see that Malfoy’s face wasn’t set in a mocking sneer he remembered from school. He looked almost affectionate.

“You’re exactly the kind of person who needs to listen to my show, Potter.”

“I’m perfectly content with my sex life, thanks.” It was a slight lie; Harry hadn’t been laid in two years, but it had been fine when he had it.

“And again, it isn’t all about sex. It's about intimacy.”

“Hence the name.”

“Ugh. I hate the name, that was all Robert. I suppose it is perfectly descriptive, though.”

“What's the deal with Robert, anyways?” Harry enquired as he took another pull from his beer.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Daphne hired interns to save money. Robert is going into a radio program at an American magical university and Naveen the receptionist just graduated with barely enough NEWTs for a Ministry clerk job so he's trying to pad his resume.” He also took a long swallow from his beer, and Harry found himself watching his throat as it worked.

It struck him that he was having a civil conversation, albeit a strange one, with Draco Malfoy while drinking Muggle lager.

“We have changed, haven't we,” he said absently.” Malfoy gave him a strange look, then shrugged.

“It’s part of growing up. I hope it’s for the better.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “You know, I think it is.”

Their detente was interrupted by George, who came out on the porch to join them. He stopped short when he saw Malfoy, and Harry hoped there wasn’t going to be a fight. Everyone had seemed to be respectful so far, out of consideration for Andromeda, but he knew there were still years of issues between the Malfoys and Weasleys.

“Ah, Harry,” he started, his voice hesitant but an excited look in his eyes. “Did I tell you that I talked to Daphne and she agreed to go out for a pint with me sometime?”

Harry raised his bottle in a salute. “That’s brilliant, mate.” Malfoy’s grey eyes widened, obviously taken aback that George would pursue a Slytherin friend of his, and also maybe comprehending why Harry had spoken to her in the first place.

“Well thing is, I want it to be casual, no pressure. So I was thinking it could be a double date? Maybe you and someone else. My treat all around, to thank you for your help.”

Harry blinked. “I don’t have anyone to bring.”

“She’s got a sister, though. That’s a classic double date.” He grimaced. “Sorry, Malfoy, I know she’s your ex. I don’t mean to be a prick or anything.” Harry was surprised. He’d expected George to be less considerate of Malfoy’s feelings. Maybe he knew Daphne was friends with him and was trying to make a good impression. Harry glanced over at Malfoy, who was wearing an inscrutable look. He covered it up quickly with a bland smile.

“No worries, it was an amicable breakup. I’m not sure Potter could handle Astoria, though.”

“What do you mean by that?” Harry asked, before he remembered Malfoy’s previous statement about Astoria liking to be ‘in charge.’ He went red, and Malfoy smirked. He obviously knew where Harry’s mind had gone.

“Um, maybe you should ask someone else. You don’t really have thank me.”

George shook his head. “You have to get out eventually, Harry.” He made his way back into the party.

“Do you think you'll ever pursue romance in the magical world again?” Malfoy questioned hesitantly.

“Being who I am makes it kind of hard to date,” Harry answered, a bitter tone in his voice. “People who don’t know me expect certain things, expect me to be someone else. And I’m running out of people I already knew before.”

“Hmm.”

They lapsed into silence. Eventually Astoria came to fetch Malfoy as the party wound down.

“Oh, Potter,” Malfoy asked as he was fetching his coat. “Are you coming back to the station to give Daphne your interview this coming week?”

“I should be, yeah.”

“Well, um…” Malfoy trailed off, a light blush staining his cheeks. “Feel free to drop by my office and say hello,” he rushed out, before turning quickly to the Floo. Astoria looked like she was going to laugh. Harry realised he hadn’t said two words to her the entire time, and wondered where she’d gotten off to while he and Malfoy conversed alone.

“Thanks for inviting us,” she said, before following Malfoy.

Harry sighed. That had been a strange day.

***

Daphne was true to her word. Harry’s interview was easy, dealing only with subjects he was willing to address. She chose to conduct it on a Monday during the pre-lunch hour, when people would be tuned in to the WWN at work. Afterwards he actually felt pleased that he had gone on air to talk about issues he cared about. It could only result in good things, like more support for house elf and werewolf rights legislation that Hermione championed, or more donations to the orphans fund that he backed.

When Daphne dismissed him, Harry made his way down the hall to Malfoy’s office. He had said to stop by, after all. Harry tried not to think about what Hermione had said, but she was right. He _had_ always been curious about Malfoy, and it hadn’t seemed to lessen over the years.

Robert was nowhere to be seen, but Malfoy was indeed in his office, chewing on a quill and concentrating on a piece of parchment in front of him.

“Hey Malfoy,” Harry said, leaning into the open doorway. “I did my interview.” The other man looked up, startled.

“Oh, Potter. Yes. I’d forgotten that was today. I’ve been rather distracted all morning.”

“Station stuff?” Harry asked, moving further into the office.

“Complaint letters,” Malfoy scoffed. “Daphne makes me deal with them. There are a number of people who don’t think my program should be on the air.” He gave Harry a challenging look, one that said he knew what Harry thought about his show.

“Well, you have to admit, it is a bit much,” Harry said defensively.

“Maybe for you,” Malfoy shot back, “but there are plenty of people who benefit.”

Harry held his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “I didn’t come here to argue.”

Malfoy raised a questioning eyebrow. “Why did you, then?”

“Er, you said to stop by?” Malfoy blushed harder than he had at Teddy’s party.

“Right. So I did.” He swiftly gathered his composure and turned to a second pile of letters. “Here. I need to get through a few more of these, but we can go to lunch when I’m done. You can read some of these while you wait.”

Harry flicked through the stack of parchment, expecting to see angry screeds from offended listeners. Instead, these appeared to be letters which contained praise or thanks. A few were from callers who’d had their questions answered personally - Harry recognised the man who had called in about giving his girlfriend an orgasm, but he went into such detail about his success that Harry quickly shoved that one on the bottom of the pile.

Most of the other letters had a common thread. The writers thanked Malfoy for the information he provided, of course, but more strikingly they were grateful that his candour had given them the courage to confront their own issues, whether in themselves or with others. Slowly, Harry began to realise that Malfoy didn’t just have a few isolated listeners. There were a good number of people who didn’t share Harry’s hangups.

Malfoy made a frustrated noise and threw one of the complaint letters across his desk. “The nerve!”

“Someone loves Robert’s pet names for you?”

“Worse. This is the third dried-up old witch to threaten taking her complaints to the Ministry in a month.”

Harry was confused. “I didn’t think the Ministry was having as much to do with the WWN, now. Can they tell Daphne what she can and can’t run?”

“In theory, no. The Ministry’s pull with news sources has always been informal. Like most bureaucratic systems, everyone was in bed with each other, at least at major ones like the _Prophet_ and WWN. The demise of the old-guard is what allowed WWN to break away from that after the war. No one here owes their jobs to anyone with political clout.”

“I don’t see what they can do, then.”

“What’s being suggested is making it formal. With censorship laws.”

Harry blinked. “That’s… taking it a bit far.”

“Indeed.” Malfoy ground his teeth. “There’s not much I can do from here, other than reply with platitudes about us being on after the watershed. No one knows I’m the host, and if they did it would only make things worse. Lee Jordan gets complaints as well, about his comedy bits being indecent, and he’s much more respectable than I am.”

He pushed his chair out and stood abruptly. “Let’s get something to eat. Muggle alright with you?”

“Sure, whatever.” Harry followed him down the hall, a bit gobsmacked that he was willingly eating out with Malfoy again, this time with no pretence of needing to discuss anything. This was almost like they were… friends.

***

There was a Floo in Daphne’s office, and she let them use it, smirking all the while. They came out at the Leaky Cauldron and quickly exited into Muggle London, with Harry following Draco. He looked like he knew where he was going, after all.

They ended up in a small Italian bistro. Malfoy slid into a booth and yanked the menu away from Harry before he could look.

“I know what to order, if you trust me.”

“Be my guest.”

Soon piping hot bread and a carafe of table wine arrived. It was more rustic than Harry had expected of a place that was obviously well-liked by Malfoy, but the bread was amazing, so he kept his mouth shut.

To Harry’s surprise, their conversation didn’t turn back to Malfoy’s show. They ranged over topics including food, Teddy, and most importantly the current Quidditch season. Malfoy was a Magpies supporter, but with the Harpies now representing England in the Cup he was obviously hoping for them to win.

There were several pauses during their lunch where Malfoy had glanced up anxiously at Harry over his wine glass and then fluttered his eyes away. It made Harry feel strangely warm inside. If it had been anyone else, he’d have assumed they were flirting. He wasn’t sure what to make of it coming from Malfoy, however. Sure, he’d been open with Harry, but he was open with everyone. That was his job. Still, the possibility that Malfoy found him attractive wasn’t as off-putting as it might have been.

Filled with pasta and wine, they came spilling out of Daphne’s Floo a bit more clumsily than they had entered it. She looked up from her desk and hid a smile behind her hand before schooling her features into something more professional.

“That was a long lunch, Draco. Better make it up by staying late if you have to.”

“And here I thought we were friends.” Malfoy brushed a few stray ashes off his immaculately tailored trousers before turning to Harry. “Best get to it then. See you around, Potter.”

“Yeah, Malfoy. See you around.” Harry watched him go, his gaze involuntarily slipping down to Malfoy’s arse. He looked back up to find Daphne grinning wickedly.

“Did you have a nice lunch with Draco, Harry?” she asked in a falsely sweet voice.

Harry reddened. “It was fine.”

“Hmm.” She looked thoughtful for a moment, before motioning Harry over. “I’m not sure why you came back to the station just to Floo back home, but I’m glad you did. I need to schedule one more thing with you.”

Harry realised he had no idea why he’d returned. It had just felt natural to accompany Malfoy back from the restaurant. “No more interviews. I only agreed to the one.”

“Yes, of course. This is just for the follow-up questions. Naturally, we usually get listeners calling or writing in after we air an interview. Most can be dismissed, but a few require clarification. I’ll give it the rest of this week, then we can meet so I can pass on any of them for your answer - your directly quoted, not mandatory answers,” she added.

“As long as I don’t have to go back on air, that should be fine,” Harry offered. Daphne beamed.

“Great! Why don’t you come by my place Friday evening, then? We’ll have a little aperitif before the weekend starts in earnest.”

“But-” Harry was about to protest that it was pub night, but it was still Quidditch break leading up to the World Cup tournament games. He really had no excuse.

“Wonderful. I’ll see you there.” Daphne looked back down at her paperwork and Harry knew he was being dismissed. He went straight back into the Floo he had just exited, calling out for his flat. He felt like he’d somehow been tricked into something.

Maybe that’s what he deserved for hanging out with Slytherins.

***

Daphne lived in a flat near the Leaky so she could Floo to work and back easily. Harry expected something completely different than what he walked into. What it was he thought he’d find, he didn’t know - ostentatious as befitting a Pure-blood, or minimalist and stylish for a new generation of posh, maybe? Instead the walls were covered in posters, some for Muggle concerts, and travel memorabilia. He paused near a scrapbook frame of numerous Portkey tickets.

“You’ve been so many places,” he said, a bit awed. He’d never been to anywhere except Paris for Ron and Hermione’s engagement party.

“After school I wanted to get away from everything for a while,” she answered, busying herself with a bottle of liquor at a cart in the corner. “We weren’t really involved in the war, but being a Slytherin and all…” She trailed off, knowing she didn’t have to describe to Harry the post-war climate of Britain. “Anyways, a cousin who worked at Witch Weekly asked me to write travelogues while I was gone. It was sort of a pity job, but it lead me through the halls of journalism and now here I am.” She handed Harry a glass of brandy and they both took a seat on her comfortable couch.

“So I’ll be honest,” she started, “I only had a few follow up calls regarding your interview. Aside from the usual cranks who wanted me to give them your private Floo address, there were some enquiries about volunteering with the orphanage you mentioned, and one complaint that we would allow someone to speak so candidly about werewolf rights on air. I provided contact information to the people who wanted to help out your charities, and told the anti-werewolf woman where she could stick it.” She smiled smugly, and Harry couldn’t help but ask.

“What exactly made you change your mind about everything, Daphne? You’re obviously more, er, liberal than when we were at school.” Her face hardened, and Harry wished he could take it back.

“You didn’t know me in school.”

“You followed Pansy around,” he shot back defensively.

“We all followed Pansy and Draco. It was easier to keep your head down back then. I was a child, for Circe’s sake, and I didn’t want to be popular like Pans did or important like Draco, because it seemed too scary to have that kind of attention.” She swirled her brandy around. “Maybe that’s why I try to do so much now. It’s not much of an excuse, once I hear myself say it out loud. Granger didn’t keep her head down. You didn’t.”

“Yeah, well…” She was right, they’d been kids, and there wasn’t much use in holding a grudge. He liked Daphne's company now. “I didn’t have much of a choice.”

“A lot of people didn’t have real choices,” she answered quietly. Harry got the feeling she wasn’t talking about herself.

He didn’t have the chance to ask her who she meant, because the Floo roared to life and spat out Malfoy and Astoria.

“Oh!” Astoria exclaimed. “I didn’t realise you’d be entertaining, Daphne. I just assumed pre-show drinks were happening as usual.” She didn’t look as shocked as she sounded. Malfoy did seem surprised to see Harry, but he gathered himself quickly.

“It’s perfectly alright, Astoria,” Daphne answered. “It completely slipped my mind that you would overlap.”

“We can leave,” Astoria offered. Malfoy pushed past her.

“Like hell we will. I need that drink.”

Harry realised he’d been conned by the Greengrass sisters into a Slytherin soiree. “I think we finished our business, I was only here to-”

“Nonsense,” Astoria said smoothly. “I won’t chase you off. Have another brandy, Harry. I didn’t really get to speak with you at Teddy’s party.” She didn’t call him ‘Potter,’ Harry noted as he was pulled towards the drinks cart, where Malfoy was busy dashing bitters into a rocks glass full of whisky.

“Little eager there, eh Malfoy?” He received a glare. “You'd be drinking too, Potter, if you had to deal with what I do. Robert says his friends placed leaflets for the show around the Wizarding section of the university he attends back in the States. I’m due for calls from American lads all night.” Across the room, Daphne giggled.

“Oh, Draco, I’m sure they need more instruction than anyone else in the ways of the bedroom.”

“Yes, but half of them will be taking the piss.” He flopped down on an overstuffed armchair.

“Don’t you dare get drunk before you go on air,” Daphne admonished, using her supervisor voice. She and Malfoy began to bicker while Astoria made drinks up for Harry and herself. Harry found his eyes were drawn to Malfoy as he argued with Daphne. He spoke using animated gestures, tossing his chin-length hair back and forth. After one particularly wicked insult, he pouted, his plush bottom lip tempting Harry in ways he had never expected.

“So, I hear you’ve been seeing a lot of our Draco,” Astoria enquired softly. Harry’s attention snapped back to her.

“What - we’re not - we’re not _seeing_ each other,” he hissed, hoping it was quiet enough that Malfoy didn’t overhear. “And what’s ‘a lot?’ We ate together a couple times.”

“And you invited him to a family party.”

“Teddy is his family, too. It probably shouldn’t have taken me so long to reach out.” Astoria considered Harry seriously for a moment, then nodded to herself. Harry suspected he was being judged, and didn’t know if he’d been deemed acceptable.

She pressed a fresh drink into his hand and then joined Daphne and Malfoy, who had moved on to critiquing one of the morning DJs. Harry actually knew the program they were talking about, and soon found himself involved in a spirited debate about the current state of Wizarding pop music. He and Malfoy agreed more often than not, it turned out, and when they didn’t they traded barbs back and forth good-naturedly. Harry enjoyed Malfoy’s sharp tongue now that he had matured and used his wit in casual conversation rather than denigrating Harry and his friends. Their eyes continually met throughout the night, and every look seemed to hold some deeper meaning, but Harry was still unsure as to what it was.

Astoria was quieter but no less engaging than her sister, and the evening in their company passed quickly for Harry. Eventually Malfoy drained his glass - Daphne had made him sip that double slowly - and stood up.

“Duty calls. Or rather, American students. Wish me luck, darlings.” It was obvious he was referring to the Greengrasses, but he looked at Harry when he said it.

“What do you think Robert will call you tonight? It can’t possibly be worse than ‘Love Guru.”

“Tune in and find out,” Malfoy said with a wink.

With his departure, the small party broke up. Daphne claimed an early morning and Astoria declared she would walk Harry to the Leaky’s Floo. She didn't give him a chance to say no.

“Ah, Harry, wait!” Daphne called just as they were walking out. She had that look in her eyes again - the one that said ‘I’m plotting something.’

“George tells me he invited you along for drinks with us sometime. I think he’s nervous,” she added slyly. “But I like him quite a bit, so I’ll indulge his first date jitters. We’re going out Wednesday. What do you say?”

Harry glanced back and forth between the two sisters anxiously.  “He wanted  - I mean, he suggested I bring Astoria, but - not that you aren’t - it’s just that Malfoy said you were - I don’t know -”

Daphne and Astoria laughed in stereo. “Don’t worry, Harry, you're not my type. Besides,” Astoria added, “that’s my night at the club. I wouldn't miss it for the world.”

Harry gulped at her mention of the club, suddenly picturing her in head to toe leather, whip in hand. “I don’t have anyone to bring," he said to Daphne.

She waved her hand dismissively. “Well, that’s obvious. Just bring Draco.”

Daphne took advantage of Harry’s stunned silence to kiss her sister on the cheek and push them out the door. As they exited the building, Harry shook himself out of it.

“Did your sister just set Malfoy and I up on a date? You know that can’t happen, right?”

“Please, you were practically eye-fucking all night,” Astoria answered easily. “The two of you are disgustingly obvious, even if neither of you realise it.”

“He’ll never agree to it, “ Harry reasoned. “Even if he finds me attractive, that’s a far cry from a bloody double date.”

“I think you underestimate Draco’s interest in you. And Merlin’s balls, Harry, stop calling him Malfoy.”

“He still calls me Potter,” Harry muttered.

“Then maybe you can be the bigger man here. Draco is intimidated by you, you know.”

“The hell he is! Everywhere I turn, he’s there calling me a prude, or conning me into eating with him.”

“Are you a prude?” she asked. Harry didn’t answer.

“Look, it’s obvious that you have some issues with what Draco does at the station. But it’s also painfully clear that you like him. He likes you, too.”

“Talking about me behind my back, are you?”

“He is my best friend.” Astoria bit her lip, and appeared to be considering whether to continue or not.

“I loved him, you know,” she said finally.

“Loved? You just said he was your best friend?”

“That’s not the same kind of love. It’s no less important, of course, but romantic and platonic love are quite different. We really did try to work as a couple.”

“I… I’m sorry. That must be awful.”

She shook her head. “No, it’s fine. He loved me, too. Like that. We just couldn’t be everything to each other. Sometimes love isn’t enough. And it was a heartbreak, for both of us. But it was also sweet while it lasted. It’s become that other kind of love, now. I just worry about him.”

“How so?”

“Draco is scared that was his only chance, that he’ll never find love with someone who can be everything he needs.”

“With a man, you mean.”

“Yes. And he loves with all of himself so he deserves a fulfilling relationship. I’m just scared he’ll jump at the first opportunity that comes along, for fear of being lonely, whether that person deserves him or not.” She gave Harry a pointed look. “If you know what I mean.”

“I’m sure I don’t,” Harry said faintly. Why was she talking about love? Did Malfoy want more from Harry?

“Let me be clear with you. If you hurt him, I’ll make sure you never get another piece of legislation passed again.”

“Hurt him?!” Harry spluttered. “How on earth could I hurt Malfoy?”

She fixed him with a deadly glare. “Just don’t start anything with him if you can’t commit. Draco is delicate. He won’t ever admit it, but he’s pleased the two of you have become friends. He cares about you. He won’t make the first move, but I’m warning you, if you use him up and throw him away, you’ll have to answer to me.”

Harry was stunned. “Wait, I thought you wanted me to ask him out. Should I or not?”

“You’re completely thick. I have no idea how you’ve managed so far in life.” She swept her hair over one shoulder at stood glaring at Harry imperiously, her 5’2 frame somehow seeming larger. “Think about what I said.” She turned, and added, “and _when_ you ask him out, call him Draco!” before striding away towards the door of the Leaky.

 _I’ve been set up_ , he thought to himself. There was no way he was getting out of this. The Greengrass sisters were a force of nature.

But as Harry kept going back to the sultry looks Malfoy had sent his way, and the way his firm arse looked in his trousers, and the way one lock of blond hair always seemed to slip over his eyes, he supposed there were worse things he could have been set up for.

***

That night Harry washed up and snuggled down into his bed with time to spare before Malfoy came on air.  He still felt uncomfortable about hearing strangers’ intimate problems. Couldn’t they write letters? Privately Floo? What if Harry did begin seeing Malfoy? Would he use their sex life to answer public questions?

Soon the pop music of the previous show faded out and Robert came on air.

“Welcome to this week’s _Intimacy Issues_. For the next hour, we’ll be taking calls on our anonymous Floo so you can have your questions answered by our Sultan of Sex.”

“I’m having you deported, Robert. The Portkey is at noon.”

Harry snorted. The naming arguments between Malfoy and his intern were even funnier now that he knew they weren’t manufactured.

The first call that night was incredibly embarrassing, involving a panicked sounding wizard and a painfully detailed description of some boils. Malfoy handled it with grace, giving the caller some suggestions but ultimately directing him to see his Healer. Harry was relieved when Robert answered the next Floo.

At first, there was only laughter. “Caller, go ahead,” Robert repeated. Finally a male voice with the same American accent spoke.

“Why do you call it a fanny?” More laughter echoed in the background. Malfoy sighed in exasperation.

“Do you have a serious question? This isn’t a linguistics program.”

“Oh really? I thought this was the right place to talk about tongues!” Several slaps and a ‘good one dude!’ could be heard, and Robert’s voice chimed in.

“Dan, if that’s you, I happen to know you’ve never seen one in person so I don’t think it matters what you call it!” He disconnected the Floo. “Ah, sorry about those guys.”

“If that’s what America is like, perhaps deporting you is too cruel a punishment,” Malfoy deadpanned.

The next call was from a British witch looking for advice on magical lube. It was an easily answered, matter-of-fact question, but turned into a discussion of female arousal and lubrication that had Harry terribly self-conscious, even alone in his room. Two sputtering hangups from American lads in which Harry could make out the words “minge” and “bell-end” came after.

There were about 15 minutes left in the program when Robert answered the last Floo.

“Alright, so before I ask this, I wanted to know,” the caller said, in an Irish accent. “I’ve been listening to this show for a few weeks now, and you seem to know a lot about all kinds of sex. Are you bisexual? Do you sleep with men?”

“If you’ve been listening that long, you know I don’t give personal details, my orientation included,” Malfoy admonished.

 _Oh, he sleeps with men,_ Harry’s mind supplied.

“I know,” the caller said in a resigned voice. “It’d just be nice to have this question answered by someone who gets it, yeah? Someone like me. Sometimes I feel so alone.”

“I can assure you that you’re not alone,” Malfoy replied. “What was your question?”

“It was worth a try. Alright, so. My question. Is it real sex if it’s not anal?”

“Holy shit,” Harry breathed. Was he going to get to listen to Malfoy’s soft, posh voice talk about anal sex? Harry had never had it, and wasn’t totally sure he was interested, so he was curious how Malfoy would answer the question.

“Sex is however you define it,” Malfoy said. “Plenty of wizards who sleep with other wizards only rarely engage in anal sex, or not at all. It can be a bit much, logistically. Also not everyone enjoys it.”

Harry wondered if that included Malfoy or not.

“So going down on someone is sex?”

“If you think of it that way. Honestly, I think the focus on penetration being the defining factor of sex to be terribly heteronormative. There are so many ways to be intimate.”

“I’ve only ever given blow jobs,” the caller admitted, “and just in quick, anonymous hookups. But this one guy a few months ago accused me of not being gay because I’ve never done anal.”

“That was rather rude of him, and entirely incorrect.”

“What else is there, though, if I don’t want it up the arse? I do like cock, that’s not in question.”

“If you enjoy oral you’re not obligated to branch out. But there’s always frottage or intercrural.”

The caller laughed. “In plain terms?”

“Wanking and thigh fucking.”

“Wanking, yeah. Don’t know the other. Just put a cock between the legs and go at it? Does that feel good?”

“It generally involves some lubrication as well, but that’s the basic idea. It’s actually very popular.”

“Wow. That, uh, sounds pretty hot.” Harry had to agree. His hand was slowly drifting down toward his hardening cock as he listened to Malfoy.

“Like anal sex, it can be done in a number of positions, and involves a giving and receiving partner. So a lot of wizards use it as an alternative to anal sex, but I think it stands on its own merit as an intimate option.”

Harry’s hand closed around his shaft as he imagined what Malfoy would look like, pale and nude, thighs glistening with lube. Would he enjoy it if Harry fucked him like that? Could they do it facing each other?

“I’d probably have to go further than a bathroom hookup to try that,” the caller said. “I’m not really out yet.”

“It’s a very personal decision whether to come out or not. But it sounds to me like you want to pursue a deeper intimacy with someone, and that’s harder to do when you’re in the closet. So maybe listen to your heart.”

“Or listen to my knob,” the caller joked.

The show was nearly over, and Harry didn’t want to have his wank interrupted by Robert’s closing bit, so he flicked his wand at the wireless to shut it off. Immediately he tightened his grip and started to stroke his cock in earnest.  What kind of noises would Malfoy make? Would he like it if Harry pulled him off while thrusting between his warm thighs? Harry imagined him crying out, head thrown back, his long neck there for Harry to suck and bite.

His climax rushed at him, harder than any solo session he’d had in months. “Draco!” he gasped, and his come pulsed out around his fingers.

As he caught his breath, Harry’s embarrassment at listening to strangers talk about their sex lives returned. How could he have gotten off on that?  

He couldn’t deny his desire for Malfoy any longer, though. Maybe it was weird to listen to him on air, but in person he was even more alluring. Harry thought of his knowing smirk, or the passion in his eyes when he ranted about complaint letters or Quidditch.

Before he could change his mind, he summoned a parchment and quill. Daphne had said Wednesday, right?

 _Malfoy_ , he began, before remembering Astoria’s advice and crossing it out.

 _Draco_ ,

_Remember how George asked me if I’d like to come along with someone when he went out with Daphne? I still think he’s being a coward. But if you’re free on Wednesday, I think it could be fun._

_Harry_

***

Harry waited until the next evening to send the invite. Malfoy’s reply had been short and to the point.

_Daphne doesn’t require supervision. But I’ll be there._

_-D_

Harry called George on the Floo to double check that inviting Malfoy was ok. They’d been civil at Teddy’s party, but George wasn’t going to cause a fuss at Andromeda’s house. The conversation had been strange.

“Harry, it’s fine. Malfoy kept his head down after everything that happened. He was an absolute git as child, we all know it. But I just don’t have it in me to hold on to a grudge. It’s obvious you don’t either.”

“He’s still kind of a git. But it’s…attractive. And he’s different in a lot of ways.” Harry obviously couldn’t tell George about Malfoy’s show.

“Anyways, Daphne loves to be right.”

“Right about what?” Harry asked suspiciously.

“I have a customer, gotta go! Oh, and Silent Jarvey at eight!”

Harry continued to feel as if there was a vast conspiracy involving him and Malfoy.

***

Apparently his suspicions were shared by Malfoy, who slid onto a bar stool beside him while he waited for George and Daphne to arrive.

“Do you know anything about the premature invite I received?” he asked as he waved the bartender over and ordered a white wine. It was served promptly.

“Sorry?” Harry was already halfway into his lager, nervous as hell about the evening. He hoped desperately that Malfoy wouldn’t be able to tell he’d had a nice wank over him.

“Daphne sent me an owl with the details for this evening. It arrived _before_ yours.”

Harry flushed all the way to the tips of his ears. “She may have suggested I ask you.”

“Suggested, as in persuaded. I see.” Malfoy upended his wine glass and drank half of it in one gulp. “I won’t have my company forced on anyone. Give the happy couple my regrets.” He stood up and abruptly turned to go.

“Fuck, Malfoy, wait!” Harry grabbed him by the cuff of his jumper, and his expression hardened.

“You letter wasn’t addressed to ‘Malfoy.”

“Merlin, are you serious?” He tried to evade Harry’s grasp, but Harry held tight. “Mal- Draco. Sit back down.”

Draco perched on the stool warily. “Look, Astoria and Daphne both _suggested_ I should ask you along-”

“Oh, Astoria is in on this too?”

“-but I wasn’t opposed to the idea.” Draco pursed his lips, but let Harry continue. “We’ve been enjoying each other’s company, and you look… I mean, you look at me…” Fuck, was he going to have to say it?

“You look at me like you want me,” he rushed out, and promptly took a sip of his beer.

Draco stared him for several long moments before picking his glass up again. “Does that please you?” Harry noticed he didn’t deny wanting him.

“I like when you look at me,” he said carefully. “And I probably look at you the same, so it’s good. I mean, they were good to suggest it.”

Draco seemed to consider his words. “Potter. Harry. We have a lot of history. It had been so long since we’d seen each other that it was almost like starting over. I’ve truly enjoyed the time we’ve spent in each others company the past couple weeks. And,” he added candidly, “when you blush I go half-hard.” Harry immediately blushed.

“But are you sure,” Draco continued, “that you can move past everything between us? I want to go into this with open eyes.”

“That’s a lot of pressure for one date. But I feel the same way. I mean, you’re still _you_ , it’d be boring if you weren't, but everything seems a little easier between us now, doesn’t it?”

“Hmm. I hope you don’t think I’m _too_ easy,” Draco drawled, finally relaxing. “Fine, I’ll stay. It’s pointless to deny ourselves the things we want at our age, don’t you think?”

“We’re only 27,” Harry said, relieved that Draco had decided to remain. _He does want me, he said it!_

“Nearly 28. Oh look, there’s Daphne now.” Sure enough, Daphne had just entered the pub, looking absolutely stunning in a casual black dress that clung to her figure without being revealing. Harry waved her over.

“You boys are here early,” she said with a smirk. “Glad to see you took my advice on the blue cashmere, Draco. I told you it sets off your eyes.” Draco flushed at being caught out. So he’d worried about what to wear? Harry thought it was cute.

“Be quiet you shrew. You’re early, too.”

“Tsk. That’s no way to talk to your boss.”

Their bickering was cut short by George’s arrival. Harry did a double-take. He’d seen George dressed to the nines before, at Bill’s wedding and other formal occasions, but he’d never seen him quite so handsome. His red hair was slightly styled, and he was wearing a grey blazer with black jeans and a green jumper. Harry’s own soft black jumper was nice and all, but he suddenly felt under dressed.

“Ah, you all beat me here,” George greeted them nervously. “Should we get a table?” The three of them followed him over to a corner table, where the magic menus were waiting. “The chips are excellent,” Harry offered.

“Oh, have you been here before mate?”

“Yeah, er, Draco and I came once.”

George’s eyebrows rose. “I thought this was your first date.”

Harry coughed. “It was just as friends.”

Daphne saved him by conferring with them about getting a bottle of wine for the table. Once they had all chosen food, talk turned to new developments at George’s shop. Harry found the interaction between George and Daphne fascinating. She was less acerbic with him than with Draco, or even Harry, but no less witty. She had them all in stitches with a story about the wicked prank she played on Naveen when he started at the station, with no less than three stages and eight Wheezes products. She carefully skirted around Draco’s involvement at her job, but made sure to pull both him and Harry into the conversation and not dominate the table.

It had been a great evening, Harry thought after a couple hours had passed and the night was naturally drawing to a close. He loved Ron and Hermione, and the rest of the Weasleys, and Luna too, but he wondered if he’d done himself a disservice but not expanding his group of friends for all these years. He never would have spoken to Daphne or Draco again, or met Astoria at all, if George hadn’t taken a chance on asking her out and pulled Harry along into the whole mad scheme.

Draco himself had been a revelation. He’d been conscientious of how he spoke to George all night, well aware of the angry past that lay between their families, but he hadn’t been delicate. Harry was impressed with the self-possessed, confident but kind person Draco had become. He knew a lot of it had to do with learning about and accepting himself, as Draco had told him, but Harry rather thought much of it simply had to do with growing up. He wondered if he himself showed the same growth as a person, ten years on. He worried that he didn’t.

When Daphne excused herself to the washroom after the bill had been paid, George leaned over and spoke in a hushed tone to Harry. “I’m going to offer to walk her home. She lives nearby, right?”

“She does, near the Leaky,” Draco interjected. “Don’t invite yourself up. Decline if she invites you. Daphne is a very modern woman as I’m sure you’re well aware, but there is a little piece of traditionalism still left in there, and she’ll respect you for it.”

George nodded. “Right. Thanks. You two ok here by yourselves?” he added with a sly grin.

“I’m down for one more round if Harry is.”

“Yeah, I’m not ready to call it a night just yet. Oi, George, put your money away,” Harry said as he noticed George pull another couple of Galleons from his pocket. “You already paid for dinner.”

“I suppose this wasn’t all for my benefit. You lads seemed to enjoy yourselves quite a bit.” His cheeky expression told Harry that it hadn’t slipped his notice when Draco and Harry’s hands had brushed under the table.

“Get out of here, Daphne’s coming back.”

George laughed, rising to his feet. “Floo me tomorrow, Harry.” He put his arm out when Daphne arrived at the table. “Walk you home?” She smiled more demurely than Harry had ever seen. “Sounds lovely. I’ll talk to you boys later. Draco, Floo me tomorrow.”

Left to their own devices, Draco and Harry relocated to the bar and ordered neat Firewhiskies.

“Are you going to walk me home as well?” Draco asked. He said it jokingly, but Harry could see a bit of uncertainty in his eyes.

“I don’t actually know where you live,” Harry said, realising there were still some basic facts about Draco he was unsure of. “You aren’t still at the Manor, are you?”

Draco’s fingers tightened around his glass. “No. I have a flat in Camden. Mother wishes I would move back home. She’s lonely, I suppose.”

Harry swallowed thickly. Narcissa Malfoy would be lonely, in that big mansion without her husband who’d been sent to Azkaban. That was a topic he didn’t want to breach with Draco so early in their… relationship?

Suddenly Harry felt doubtful. Even after the wonderful time they’d had that night, something had come up to stall the conversation. How often would that happen? What _could_ he and Draco be to each other? Even if they were past their rivalry, and respected and desired each other, how could they be together? There were things they could never talk about, not without anger and sadness.

Draco obviously picked up on Harry’s anxiety, because his lips thinned into a firm line, and he finished his drink quickly. “We’re stupid. We’re so stupid.” He stood and gathered his coat. “All our good intentions are never going to be enough to get past _Potter_ and _Malfoy_ for you, are they?”

“Me? You can’t possibly want to discuss things like your mother with me, either.”

“That’s part and parcel of being with someone. Addressing the difficult things.”

As their voices raised, Harry could feel numerous pairs of eyes on him. Tonight had been fine, wonderful even, but it couldn’t stay quiet forever. Most people had gotten better at leaving Harry alone over the years, but an argument in public was juicy gossip, and it would get out to the press. The thought of the _Prophet_ shoving cameras in their faces every time they went out made Harry sweat.

“People are going to talk if we’re together,” Harry said quietly. It was absolutely the wrong thing to say. Draco’s eyes lit up with hurt, and a bit of rage.

“ _You_ asked me here, Potter,” he hissed. “You convinced me to stay. Of course people are going to fucking talk, they never leave either of us alone. But you knew that going in. I suppose I expected a little more courage from you.”

He shrugged his arms through the sleeves of his coat and stared down at Harry, who was at a loss for words. “I had a lovely evening,” he bit out, before turning on his heel and exiting the pub.

Harry sat in stunned silence. How could Draco have possibly expected courage from him? He hadn’t gone after anything he wanted in a very long time. And Draco knew that.

But he _had_ been brave once, hadn’t he? And even while furious with Harry, Draco made him feel alive in a way that he hadn’t in years. On top of that, he wanted Harry to change, to grow.

Harry was terrified.  But he wasn’t an idiot. He threw a few Galleons on the bar and hurried out the door without waiting for his change.

Draco was already a good way down the road, walking with quick, bitter steps. Harry ran to catch up to him.

“Draco. Please wait. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t know why I’m so disappointed,” Draco ranted. “You’re a repressed little fool.”

“That’s a little harsh. I am trying here.”

“Try on your own time.”

“I like spending time with you, though.”

Draco didn’t stop, but he did slow down. Harry took that as a sign to continue.

“I’m not great at having difficult conversations. But it’s early on. Can’t we just try it?”

“I’m not going to waste my effort on someone who’s ashamed to be with me.”

“I’m _not_ ashamed,” Harry stated firmly.

Draco sighed deeply, but he finally stopped walking. The shops on this part of Diagon Alley were all closed this late at night, but Harry still didn’t want to just stand there in the middle of the street, so he gently drew Draco over to stand under the awning of a flower shop.

“Will you give me another chance?”

“Do you really think I’m worth it?” Draco asked quietly.

“Yeah. I do. And I reckon you think I’m worth it, too.” Draco looked up at Harry and smiled softly.

“Maybe I just can’t resist you. You did turn out rather handsome, Potter.”

“Harry. I liked when you were calling me Harry.”

“Harry,” Draco whispered. Harry was suddenly aware of just how close they were standing. Draco hadn’t pulled his hand away from when Harry had grasped it to lead him, and Harry moved his thumb in circles, stroking gently. Draco leaned in even closer, his eyes moving over Harry’s face.

“There’s that look,” Harry said.

“What look?”

“The one I mentioned earlier.”

“Ah. Does it still please you?”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded. “Are you… you know?” Draco cocked his head. “Well, I must be blushing,” Harry admitted.

“Oh. Oh!” A wicked grin stole over Draco’s face. “Not yet.”

“Not yet?” Harry asked breathily. His other hand raised to rest on Draco’s shoulder.

“Well, it’s sort of dark out here, I can’t really tell if you’re blushing or not,” Draco said, tilting his face towards Harry’s.

“Come a little closer, then,” Harry murmured, the end of his sentence fading into Draco’s mouth.

The first press of their lips together felt like an explosion in Harry’s heart. He didn’t know who had kissed who first, but it didn’t matter. Draco’s lips were just as soft as he’d imagined, just as plush, and smooth from the barest hint of invisible gloss that Harry hadn’t noticed before.

They moved against each other for long moments, trading simple kisses back and forth. Finally it was Harry who took the next step, and opened his mouth wider, slipping his tongue across Draco’s bottom lip. The resulting gasp gave him the opportunity to lick into Draco’s mouth. Suddenly Draco melted against him, and all at once the kiss became a deep and devouring thing. Hands tangled in hair, grasped at waists, ran down arms.

Harry didn’t know if it lasted ten seconds or ten minutes, but he did know it was over too soon; Draco pulled back with a moan just before Harry’s wandering hands managed to find his arse. “Gods, Harry, give me a minute.”

They both took a second to compose themselves. Draco was the first to speak.

“This is going against my better judgement. I don’t want to have to convince someone to be with me.” .

“I don’t need to be convinced,” Harry assured him. “I want you. To be with you,” he amended.

“Mmm. I guess we’ll just have to find out.”

“So you’ll see me again?” Draco nodded, and Harry felt a swell of happiness. It had been so long since he was this excited about something. He couldn’t resist kissing Draco one more time, quickly but firmly.

“Can I walk you back to the Floo at the Leaky?”

“It’s only Camden, I was going to Apparate.”

“Wait, then why were you walking away? Why didn’t you just Apparate as soon as you left the pub?”

Draco bit his lip and shyly admitted, “I was hoping you would chase me.”

Harry couldn’t help but laugh. “You know me so well.”

“Gryffindor to the end.”

“Yeah, well, I think I’ve forgotten that over the years. You make me want to be brave again, though. Just be patient with me?”

“If it gets me snogged like that? I suppose I can be.”

“You’re a prat,” Harry teased. “I’ll owl you later this week then?”

Draco put on a falsely haughty look. “You may.” The effect was spoiled by the grin twitching at the corner of his mouth. “I’ll talk to you later, Harry.”

“You will.”

Draco stepped back and drew his wand, flashing one more smile at Harry before he vanished with a crack. Harry pulled his own wand out to do the same, and caught his reflection in the window of the shop. He hadn’t looked so happy in a long time.


	3. Crossfade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a brief discussion of sexual assault during one call on Draco's program. It is separated by "*&*" if you wish to avoid that.

Harry slept very well that night, still able to feel Draco’s kisses on his lips. He didn’t have much to do the next day aside from a scheduled Floo call from the secretary of the orphanage that he sponsored, so he allowed himself a bit of a lie-in.

He was still sipping his tea when the Floo roared to life. “Mr. Potter?”

“Sorelle, how many times do I have to ask you to call me Harry?”

The middle-aged witch on the other end laughed nervously. “Oh, once more, I suppose. Have I caught you at a bad time?”

Harry raised a brow. “Our call was scheduled, remember? I was waiting for you.”

“Of course, of course. I just wondered, if this morning, you might be… indisposed.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Nothing, nothing! Er, shall we agree on the quote from you for our printed fundraising materials? I believe you wanted to approve it before going to press.”

Harry frowned. “If it hasn’t been changed since the last pamphlet, I don’t need to approve it. Are you sure everything’s ok?”

Sorelle’s eyes, tinted green in the flames of the Floo, darted back and forth. “You haven’t read the _Prophet_ today, have you.”

“I actually never read it. Haven’t touched it in at least five years, if not more. Why?”

“Forget I said anything,” she answered quickly. “Um, the only change is that we were thinking of including a small picture of you beside the quote.”

“I hardly think that’s necessary. People know what I look like. And I’m not the focus, the children are.”

“Right. Of course. Never mind that, then.” She didn’t seem to want to meet Harry’s gaze. “That was all, really.”

“Okay,” Harry said slowly. “I suppose I’ll talk to you another time, then..”

“Goodbye Mr. Potter!” The Floo went out, and Harry sat back in confusion. Sorelle was a no-nonsense witch. For her to be discomfited, the _Prophet_ story must have been more than their usual… whatever they printed. Despite his desire to avoid what they called news, Harry’s friends had mentioned off-hand over the years seeing this photo or that of him in the paper. He knew their ‘reporters’ speculated over his love life. But as far as he knew, he hadn’t been interesting enough to warrant a real story in a long time.

He shouldn’t look.

He shouldn’t.

***

_It was truly a stroke of luck that this reporter found herself at the Silent Jarvey yesterday evening, and even more serendipitous that she was trying out a new hair colour, for she wasn’t noticed in the corner while a truly baffling spectacle unfolded._

_Four extremely unlikely companions dined together, and appeared very close. George Weasley, of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, was escorting Daphne Greengrass, an on-air personality from the Wizarding Wireless Network. Her old schoolmate, the ever elusive Draco Malfoy, was the third person in the party; I question what her heartbroken little sister must think of Daphne’s willingness to dine with the cad. The final guest was the most surprising - Harry James Potter himself. Mr. Potter has refused to speak to this reporter - indeed, has refused all calls from our illustrious paper in years - and one must wonder if it is because he wishes to hide the company he keeps these days._

_Of course Mr. Weasley is an old friend of his, and has always been an eccentric, but Miss Greengrass is at the centre of the controversy over so-called decency laws. Under her supervision, the content of the WWN has become most offensive. Those of us with respect for traditional values have found ourselves at odds with those in the Ministry who would prefer that we allow such permissive standards to continue. Sadly, it would seem that Mr. Potter is on the side of those who would sanction such filth as the salacious comedy routines aired on “The Lee Jordan Hour,” or the appalling sexual content of “Intimacy Issues,” to say nothing of the current tasteless trends in popular music._

_One can only speculate about whom or what has influenced Mr. Potter - or dare we say, corrupted him. The presence of the former Death Eater at the table may give us a clue. Mr. Malfoy’s reputation as a spoilt playboy precedes him. It may come as a shock to you, dear readers, but I am nearly certain the foursome was actually there as a pair of couples. Mr. Weasley and Miss Greengrass exited the restaurant together, and Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy remained behind for one more drink, after which they appeared to have a lover’s spat. Before you accuse me of jumping to conclusions, may I reveal that this paper has actually published a photograph of Mr. Potter on a possible date with a man before, one Terry Boot, and declined to call it as such out of respect for Mr. Potter’s privacy._

_Has Harry Potter been seduced and exploited by these Slytherin libertines? Or is he showing us a side of himself that we never knew, one of shameless debauchery? We can only hope he comes to his senses. There are far more suitable wizards in the dating pool, after all. Until then, those of us who care about propriety and decorum must continue to petition the Ministry for a hearing on codes of conduct for media in the Wizarding World - codes your paper of record will be quite eager to comply with._

_\- Rita Skeeter_

Serendipitous hair colour, indeed. Harry knew she must have been in beetle form. Hermione had been lax after so many years, and Rita thought she could get away with it again. He wondered if Daphne or Draco would somehow hear about the article and give in to temptation like Harry had. Daphne would have kittens about being called a ‘personality.’  Draco would probably just roll his eyes at being referred to as a ‘playboy,’ especially since the only relationship he’d ever been in was with Astoria, as far as Rita knew.

Harry was unsure how Draco would react to the dig at his past, however. He didn’t believe that Draco had ever been a real Death Eater - and neither did the courts, or he would have gone to prison - and he seemed fairly well-adjusted, despite what happened to him as a teenager. It still had to be painful to be reminded of it.

Rita was a pro, Harry had to admit. She used words like ‘appeared,’ ‘possible’ and ‘it would seem’ to avoid actually saying outright that Harry was depraved or involved with Draco. She also made sure to suggest ‘more suitable wizards’ to avoid being accused of homophobia - it was only Draco that received her disapproval.

So here it was, the thing Harry had feared. They’d only been seeing each other for a day and already the press was salivating over their relationship. It was up to Harry to be brave and keep his promise to Draco, that he was worth the trouble.

Harry couldn’t ignore the larger implications, though. It was one thing for him to ignore gossip about his personal life. This was an attack on Daphne’s career - and Draco’s, even if Rita didn’t know it. Draco had warned him that there had been suggestions to the Ministry about censorship laws. An awful lot of people read the _Prophet_.

And a lot of people felt like Rita.

***

Harry spent the rest of the day wondering if he should talk to Draco about the article. What if he hadn’t read it? But what if he _had_ read it, and was waiting for Harry to say something? Or he had read it, but assumed Harry would not, and was keeping his feelings to himself, bottled up? Harry felt like a teenage girl, fretting over every little possibility. When there was a chime at the Floo, he almost didn’t answer it for fear it might be Draco.

It was George, looking agitated.

“Harry, mate, I know you don’t read the _Prophet_ but -”

“I read it today.”

“Oh.” George was taken aback. “You know then.”

“That they raked Daphne and Draco over the coals? Yeah. It’s a hack job.”

“I never wanted this for her,” George fretted. “I know she’s had issues over at the station with people being upset, but I didn’t know it was as bad this. People want to make laws about it, Harry.”

“Yeah, Draco mentioned something about that before. He gets - I mean-” Harry paused. If George was serious about Daphne, he was going to find out eventually. “Look, have you ever listened to that sex show on Friday nights? I mean, it’s not just sex…”

“Sure I have. I think it’s great.”

“Really?” Harry said, surprised. “I thought it was in bad taste, at first.”

George seemed to consider his words. “I hope you don’t mind me saying, Harry, but you’ve always been a little uptight. Gin may or may not have mentioned it back in the day when you were dating.”

“Oh.” Harry tried to be hurt, but George wasn’t wrong. “Well, the thing is, the Love Professor, or whatever the hell Robert calls him that week… that’s Draco.”

George’s mouth fell open, green flames appearing through it. “You’re having me on! Malfoy?! Is the Love Guru?!”

“God, he hates all those names,” Harry laughed. “But yeah, that’s him. It took me a while to get used to it. I found out by accident - or actually,” he amended, “I’m pretty sure Daphne set that up. But he took me aside to ask me not to tell, and… we started hanging out.”

“Merlin’s balls, Harry. Rita Skeeter’s threatening both our sweethearts, then.”

“She can’t find out about Draco,” Harry pleaded.

“Knowing it’s him, on top of the stuff he talks about? Course not, she’d ruin him.”

“It’s not just that. He needs to be anonymous so people get an unbiased opinion. He’s… he really helps people.”

“Have you talked to him? Did he read the article?”

“I’ve been to scared to ask him,” Harry admitted. “He doesn’t usually read the _Prophet_ , either. I only did because someone mentioned it to me.”

“This isn’t just a bit on the gossip pages, Harry. It was front cover stuff. Someone is going to tell him. Do you want him to hear it from someone else?”

“Are you going to talk to Daphne about it?”

“I’m calling her next. Actually, I’d better let you go. Good luck with your man.” The flames faded out before Harry had a chance to say goodbye.

***

Harry thought about firecalling Draco right then, or at least sending him an owl. He did, he _really_ did. He’d planned to send him one Friday: wait a day, don’t seem too eager, then wish him good luck on his show that night and ask what he was up to Saturday. It had been a perfect plan, before Rita Skeeter ruined it.

But as Friday wore on, Harry worried more and more about what he would say to Draco. On top of that, he felt increasingly guilty. If it had just been Daphne and Draco, or Daphne, Draco and George in that pub, it wouldn’t have been front page news. Rita would be like a Crup on the scent now. What if she found out Draco’s secret? It would be Harry’s fault.

Harry did think Draco was worth the trouble. But was Harry worth the trouble for Draco?

So Harry gave into his cowardice, and the owl went unsent. By the time midnight arrived, he was miserable, but felt like he should tune in to the show. He drug his feet on the way upstairs, and missed the little intro before he switched on the wireless.

“ - are all anonymous. So let’s get right into it! Our first call is already waiting on the line. Caller, go ahead.”

“You boys should be ashamed of yourselves,” an older sounding witch said in a severe tone.

“Hey now!” Robert started, but Draco interrupted him.

“We don’t find shame in being candid, ma’am.”

“Well you ought to! In my day no one would dream of saying the things you do.”

“And that caused more harm than good,” Draco answered smoothly. “Shame only leads to unhappiness. I can assure you that everyone who finds the courage to call us is better for choosing openness and honesty.”

“Well, I never,” she sputtered. “I’m sure you haven’t,” Robert muttered in the background. Draco tried to be diplomatic.

“I’m well aware that everyone has different personal standards of decency. But we can’t force our own views on others. Our show is on late enough that children are in bed, and adults can make the choice whether to tune in or not. I’m afraid I haven’t much else to say on the matter.”

There was a _whoosh_ as the witch hung up, and another chime as a second call came in. “God, I hope this isn’t another complaint,” Robert said. “Caller, go ahead.”

A beat, and an American voice popped up. “Uh, geez. I was gonna ask you guys what’s up with the uncircumcised dicks, but that was pretty rough. “

“I appreciate your restraint,” Draco said dryly.

“Yeah. You know what? I do have a question, actually. Can too many cleaning spells dry a girl out down there?” There was laughter in the background, but the boy on the call shushed them. “This is important!” he hissed.

“Yes,” Draco replied. “They can. Genital cleaning spells are for external use. A modified version exists for anal sex which _can_ be used internally. But cleaning spells are like Muggle douching, they can disrupt the Ph balance of a healthy vagina.”

“Urgh. Well, uh, good to know. But what if it’s gross down there?”

“If by ‘gross’ you mean the natural state of a vagina, I don’t know what to tell you, other than to get over it.”

“And what if she has an infection or something?”

“Then I would suggest that she - or he, or anyone else with a vagina - talk to their Healer rather than allowing a university student to cast Cleaning charms on them.”

With a “thanks, dude,” the caller hung up. Harry couldn’t help but laugh. He could picture Draco’s exasperated face, appalled that American lads were casting _Scourgify_ on their sex partners.

*&*

Robert answered the next call, and it was an American voice as well, but this time apparently female.

“Hey, um, I don’t know if this is the right place to ask this…” She sounded fearful.

“You won’t know unless you ask,” Draco encouraged gently.

There were a few moments of silence before she continued. “I went out with this guy last week and we went to a kegger. I don’t know if you have those there, it’s a house party with a lot of beer, it was at a frat. Oh, that’s a fraternity house. A lot of guys live there at once who go to the college. We have a magical campus right next to the Muggle one, we’ve picked up a lot of their traditions.” She was rambling, but Draco didn’t interrupt. “So there was a lot of alcohol, but I knew that going in and I wanted to drink. And I got a little carried away, I mean we all do sometimes… and he got me home which was nice, but…”

“But?”

“I remember going upstairs with him, but nothing after that. I woke up without my underwear the next day,” she added in a whisper. “I think we had sex, but I wasn’t planning on doing that on the first date.” She was quiet again, before asking hesitantly, “Do you think I should tell someone? I’m worried he’ll do it to someone else.”

“First,” Draco began, “sex without consent isn’t sex. If you were too drunk to remember, you weren’t in any position to say yes. It’s up to you what language you want to use to describe the incident, but under most university policies that would fall under sexual assault, to say nothing of the law in general.”

She sniffed wetly, and Harry felt awful for her. “We’re lucky to have something that Muggles don’t,” Draco continued. “If you decide to press charges or bring him up before a university committee, you’ll have the option of using a Pensieve. I’m not versed in American law, so I don’t know if he can be compelled to produce memories, but you can offer yours.”

“I don’t want anyone to see that!” she rushed out. “It’s my fault I got so drunk anyways.”

“But it’s not your fault he decided to take advantage of you.”

“Yeah. I mean, I know that,” she said in a small voice. “I just feel like people will blame me.”

“Whatever decision you make about telling someone is your choice. You aren’t under any obligation to do so. But many people who report their assault find power in that.”

“Really? I don’t know anyone else who’s gone through this.”

“If you’re at the Harvard attachment, there’s a support group,” Robert chimed in.

“I’m going to have Robert pass on a few contacts to you, ok? Some people based in the US, who will have more pertinent legal information for you.”

“Thank you. I didn’t want to ask anyone here, I thought it’d be safe to call this show since it’s so far away. I’d like those contacts though, please.”

Robert disconnected the on-air broadcast to go to private Floo, and a short musical interlude played.  Harry was floored by the intensity of the call, and how kindly Draco had dealt with it. Harry would have probably told the girl to go full force on her assailant. He’d never stopped to think how someone could blame themselves for being assaulted.

*&*

The small break allowed a smooth transition from the seriousness of the previous call, and the next one was about whether wizards could catch Muggle STDs.

“Yes. Absolutely yes. And there are certain ones we can transmit to Muggles, so unless you want an Obliviator to know about your sex life, be sure to use protection.”

At the end of the show, Robert came back on air and gave out several contacts for groups in Britain that dealt with sexual assault, as well as the Floo number for St. Mungo’s private sexual health clinic for STD testing. Harry hadn’t even known that existed.

As _Softer Sounds of Soothing Scotland_ came on air, Harry let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. The only attack on Draco had come at the beginning of the program, and he’d handled it with grace. And that call from the American witch, and the facts about spells that Harry had never even thought of…

Harry was so proud of Draco.

Right then he resolved to call him tomorrow. No owls, nothing impersonal. Draco was brave, Draco had trusted him with his secrets, Draco kissed him like the world was ending. Harry owed him nothing but - how had he said it? “Openness and honesty.”

Rita Skeeter could get bent.

***

Some of Harry’s fear had returned the next day, but he plucked up his courage and placed a call to Draco’s Floo. For a moment he worried he had the wrong name for his flat - Draco had given it to him quickly during their date on Wednesday - or that he wasn’t answering on purpose. After a nerve-wracking number of chimes, Draco’s face appeared in the flames.

“Potter. I was wondering when you would call.”

“Back to Potter?” Harry asked nervously.

“Should I be?”

“I hope not. Can- can we talk? In person?”

“Do you want me to come through? I was just preparing dinner, it will have to wait.”

“Oh,” Harry said, disappointed. “Whatever works for you. I just needed to tell you some things. Good things, I hope!” he assured.

Draco was handsome even in the sickly green light of the Floo. He looked away, and then back towards Harry.

“Do you like quail?”

Taken aback, Harry blurted out “You cooked _quail?_ For just yourself?”

“Too posh for you? Never mind,” Draco said in a hurt voice.

“No! I just never cook anything beyond pasta. I was impressed.” Draco looked sceptical, but moved aside anyways. “Come on, then. I’ve enough for two.”

Harry stepped through the fireplace before Draco could change his mind. Immediately he was hit with a tempting, savoury scent. “Gods, that smells amazing.”

“It’s broiling in rosemary and borage flowers. I haven’t decided on a side yet. Do you enjoy parsnips?”

“I could go for that, yeah.”  Harry tried to move out of Draco’s way as he returned to the kitchen, but they both went in the same direction and bumped into each other.

“Sorry!” “Pardon!” Neither of them moved away, however, and finally Draco sighed in frustration.

“Circe’s sake, Harry. We did this dance already. No need to be shy.” He darted in and kissed Harry, who was so relieved that he kissed back immediately.

“There,” said Draco, licking his lips. “As I recall, we both enjoyed that part immensely. It’d be a shame to backtrack. We can get the awkward conversation over with after dinner.” He gracefully stepped around Harry and busied himself in the kitchen.

It didn’t seem like Draco was holding a grudge about Harry not getting in touch with him. Harry decided to take the kiss as a good sign and made himself comfortable in Draco’s sitting room while he waited for the delicious-smelling dinner to arrive.

Finally Draco called him into the kitchen, where a small table was set. After commenting on the ‘poshness’ of the quail earlier, Harry wasn’t about to point out that he’d expected a dining room. The bird was moist and the parsnips well-seasoned.. A loaf of crusty bread sat in the middle of the table to complete the meal.

“Am I going to get this treatment all the time if we’re dating?” Harry asked in a humorous tone. Draco tried to unsuccessfully hide a pleased smile behind his wine glass.

“Is it good?”

“It’s amazing. Ron _wishes_ Hermione cooked this well.”

The meal came to an end all to soon, and Harry had to address the more serious topic he’d come to discuss.

“So… did you hear about the article Rita Skeeter wrote about us in the _Prophet?_ "

Draco sipped his wine, considering his words carefully. “I wouldn’t say it was only about us. But yes. Despite my attempts to avoid that rag, I’ve been fielding calls since Thursday. Mostly from my mother, worried about my reputation, but also from Daphne and Robert. Daphne professes not to read the _Prophet_ , of course, but I know she checks into it every time the station is mentioned. It’s her responsibility.”

“I hope it’s ok, but I told George about the show, since he’s tangled up in this. I should have asked you first.”

“You can tell your close friends, if you like. I’m sure Gryffindor honour still holds.”

“And I’m sorry I didn’t owl or Floo you right away. I wasn’t exactly sure what to say,” Harry admitted.

“It’s alright,” Draco answered in a resigned voice. “I know you value your privacy. This was coming eventually.”

“It wasn’t really fair to you, though. I’m sure you had feelings about that article, I should have been there for you. Especially after she called you - well, you know.”

“She wasn’t entirely wrong.”

“I mean, I suppose you are spoilt.” Draco had the grace to laugh at Harry’s attempt at humour, and the ice broke a bit more.

“Honestly, I was more worried that being involved with me would cause you problems with your show. You don’t deserve that.” Draco opened his mouth in astonishment, but Harry rushed on before he could interrupt. “I’d hate for you to lose that. I know I didn’t get it at first, but I see now, Draco. Am I worth you being exposed?”

Draco searched for an answer. “I think the show itself is more important than my involvement. If Rita revealed my identity and Daphne was forced to fire me, I think Robert would be more than capable of taking over at this point. Maybe with myself as a silent, secret adviser. It would be painful, though. I’ve put over a year of my life into this show, and it’s like the culmination of all the soul-searching I’ve done the past decade.” He didn’t completely answer Harry’s question, but Harry didn’t push him.

“I know you’ve said that accepting your sexuality was the thing that brought you this point. How did you learn about things like, well, diseases and stuff?”

“A lot of research. I knew if I was going to talk about sex on air it wouldn’t all be questions about positions or pleasure or identity issues. I do take care to refer people to Healers if it sounds like they have an actual medical problem.”

“Have you ever thought about becoming a Healer yourself?” Harry wondered out loud. Draco looked incredulous.

“I don’t suppose I have. Then again, I’d never be accepted to any training program,” he added bitterly.

“You’re doing a good thing for people where you’re at,” Harry reassured him. “That girl who called this Friday… I’d never heard anything so sad.”

“I doubt that. You’ve been through a war.”

“We both have. But that was a different kind of upsetting. To have something so terrible happen, and not even know if you’d have the support of your family and friends.”

Draco went very quiet. “There’s many things we blame ourselves for unfairly,” he said finally.

Harry swallowed. His mind immediately went to the aftermath of the war, when he’d felt responsible for all the people who died in the Battle of Hogwarts. He wondered what Draco could be referring to.

“Crabbe?” he asked softly.

“Among other things.” He took a deep breath, and let it all out in a huff. “I did say having difficult conversations was part of a relationship, didn’t I?”

Harry smiled wryly. “You did.”

“I feel justly responsible for Vincent’s death. I shouldn’t have been there in the castle that night. I had every opportunity to run; I certainly didn’t believe in Voldemort’s wish to attack Hogwarts.” Harry was startled by Draco’s casual use of the name. “And Vince may very well had tried to confront you elsewhere, had you run into each other. But he wouldn’t have been anywhere near the Room of Requirement if I hadn’t led him there.”

Draco twisted his fingers together, his knuckles white. “I thought so many times of running away that night. But I’d had it drilled into my head by my father that running was the act of a coward. Rich, coming from him, after the way he weaselled his way out of any punishment the first time around. I also feared what Voldemort would do to my mother if he won and found me gone. So I continued blindly down the path that had been set for me.”

“We were so young, Draco.” Harry recalled the look on Draco’s face in his visions, terrified and unhappy at Malfoy Manor. “I knew from the moment you ran away from Hogwarts, on the night that Dumbledore died, that you weren’t a murderer.”

“I could have asked for help in Sixth Year once I was away from the Manor,” Draco countered.

“You seem pretty set on getting me to condemn you.”

“I don’t want you to give me a pass.”

“I’m not. You were a right shit to me, growing up. And to my friends. George is being the bigger man, but you’ll have to apologise to Ron and Hermione if we go forward with this.”

“And I will.”

“But being a bully and being a Death Eater are two different things. I’m sorry that still follows you.”

Draco fiddled with his sleeve. “You know, of all the things I still rebuke myself for doing, the one thing that was done _to_ me is the thing people always look for.”

He began to unbutton his cuff, and Harry knew what he referred to. It had been years since he’d seen one, and he braced himself.

Slowly Draco rolled up his sleeve, revealing the scar left behind by the Dark Mark.

“This was done to me without consent. I realise that now. I said ‘yes,’ and I said ‘thank you, my Lord,’ but could I really refuse it? The only other option was death, or at the very least torture. That’s not a _real_ choice. When one party fears for their life, or safety, or even their livelihood or reputation, that’s not consent. A frightened ‘yes’ isn’t ‘yes’ at all.” He slowly stroked the lines of the snake, still visible against his pale skin. “This was an assault against my person.”

“I always thought you wanted it,” Harry admitted.

Draco rolled his sleeve back down and sighed. “Please don’t get me wrong, Harry. I’m not trying to absolve myself of everything I did during the war. I made some bad choices. There were times when I could have changed my path. But once I was in so deep, every decision was made was with the threat of an _Avada_ _Kedavra_ hanging over my head. And it all started as a terrified sixteen year old, kneeling in the dining hall of my family home, wishing with all my might that someone with far more power wouldn’t hurt me.”

He looked at Harry knowingly. “I’m aware they all blame me. I blamed myself, too. I told myself that I deserved this. I _had_ wanted it at one point, or what I thought it was, as a hot-headed boy who desired revenge on those who had supposedly wronged my family. But when I was faced with it, when I came before him and saw what terrible, sickening evil he held within, I didn’t have the option to say no. I couldn’t change my mind.”

“And I will be judged for it for the rest of my life,” he continued. “There are things that I should pay for. I wasn’t allowed to return to Hogwarts to complete my NEWTS, and that was just. I did irreparable harm to that school. I also had to pay a portion of my inheritance towards reparations when my Father was sent to prison. Honestly, I would have done that without the decree. But taking the Mark and joining the Death Eaters was the act of a child under coercion.”

Harry wanted to reach out and take Draco’s hand, to steady himself against all the emotions rising within him. He hesitated, unsure how it would be received. He met him with words instead.

“I thought everything that happened in the battle was all my fault for a long time. I went back to Hogwarts, I was the one he wanted. I couldn’t even look Teddy in the eye at first, because I thought I was the reason his parents were dead.”

“You’re the reason the rest of us are alive, Harry.”

“I can’t take all the credit for the victory. But yeah, I came to a place of acceptance eventually.”

“I imagine your friends had a lot to do with it.”

“In a way. I mean, they were there to talk to. But I didn’t want to lay everything at their feet when they had their own issues to deal with. Finally Hermione sent me to a therapist for PTSD. I went for three years.” Draco cocked his head in surprise. “I know, right? Not all of us have sex clubs,” he teased.

And just like that the tension in the room deflated.

“That’ll be Rita’s next headline, then. ‘Death Eater Malfoy gets over his tragic past by being an absolute slut.’”

Harry burst out laughing. “Gods, were you?”

Draco raised his eyebrows. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Honestly?” Harry drained his wine glass. “I’ve wondered ever since you said something about _scenes.”_

Draco flushed and sputtered. “I - I mean, that is -” He took a moment to collect himself, before his expression returned to his customary self-assured smirk.

“How much do you know about BSDM, Harry?”

“Not very much,” Harry breathed out. “It sounds a bit scary.”

“And yet, intriguing? I’m not asking you to do anything, don’t worry. I find it enjoyable on occasion, but I’m not in the lifestyle. That’s Astoria’s calling.”

“And the two of you learned about it in the clubs you went to?”

“It was one activity a person could participate in. There was also simple group sex, or voyeurism, or even just interviewing partners for polyamorous relationships.” Draco reached for the wine, but then seemed to think better of it. Harry wondered why he might want to remain sober.

“Astoria came into her own when a dominatrix took her under their wing. Like I said, it excites me, but only as a… treat, I suppose. I want my sexual relationships to be more equal. Not,” he quickly clarified, “that a dom and sub aren’t on the same footing, but I don’t want things between myself and a partner to be so defined.”

“Also Astoria is a woman, and you want to have sex with men,” Harry supplied.

“Well, yes, there is that. Although for me the release that comes from submission doesn’t depend on the gender of the person I submit to.” Harry’s words caught in his throat, and Draco perceptively noticed.

“You thought I’d be on the other end, didn’t you? I’ve done it. It’s not for me.”

“I don’t think it’s something I’m interested in,” Harry admitted. Draco shrugged.

“I wouldn’t miss it. But navigating the process did open my eyes. One must be very aware of their needs and desires to enter into such a thing.”

Harry nodded. He did think he finally comprehended what Draco had been telling him, from their first meeting in which Draco had shocked him with his frankness, up to now when their open conversation had expanded far past sexual matters. It had been an intense amount of information to absorb. Once again, Draco intuited Harry’s thoughts.

“I understand if you want to call it a night. That was rather a lot to discuss.”

It was, but Harry wasn’t quite ready to quit Draco’s company. “I’m not really tired or anything. I was actually hoping to catch the Harpies match against the Peruvians. Were you going to listen in?

Draco gave Harry a relieved smile, and appeared to relax. “I was indeed.”

They moved from the small table in the kitchen to the sitting room as the Harpies match versus the Tarapoto Tree-Skimmers commenced. The time zone difference meant that it would go quite late, especially if the Seekers found it difficult to catch the Snitch.

Two hours flew by as Harry and Draco shouted at the wireless, first in agreement with the referee, then in total opposition. Harry cast a quick _Tempus_ once as Draco went to open another bottle, and he realised it was nearing midnight. Still he had no desire to go back home.

When Draco returned from the kitchen with a white wine (”You’ll love this one Harry, it has notes of ginger and pear,”) he sat down on the couch a bit heavily, and closer to Harry than he had been before.

“I know we started on red, but I really wanted you to try this.”

Harry took the proffered glass, and raised a small toast along with Draco. The wine was actually quite good. But the smell of Draco, suddenly nestled against Harry’s shoulder, was even better.

“Do you like it,” Draco asked, a bit muffled as he turned his head into Harry’s shirt.

“Mm-hmm.” Harry took a deep breath. “I can detect subtle notes of vanilla, and snootiness, and roasted quail…”

Draco raised his head quickly. “Excuse me?”

“Ah, sorry, that was just your hair,” Harry teased, as he leaned down to ruffle the white-blond mop to his left.

As if it were the most natural thing in the world, Draco leaned up into Harry’s touch as if he were a cat seeking out a petting. Harry found himself entranced by the slip and slide of the wispy platinum strands between his fingers. Soon his hand wandered down to Draco’s chin, then his neck, and then their mouths were slanting together in a sequel to their deep and pleasurable kiss a few nights before.

Harry found the angle to be less than comfortable, so he reached down and pulled Draco up towards himself. Draco took that as an invitation, and slung his leg over Harry to perch in his lap. Panting, he pulled his mouth away.

“Is this ok?”

“Gods, yeah,” Harry said breathlessly as he sucked on a spot beneath Draco’s ear that made him whimper. Soon they were snogging desperately. Draco wound his arms around Harry’s neck and pressed his body downwards until there was no space left between them. Harry soon realised that he could feel Draco’s erection, hard beneath his trousers. His hands drifted down to cup Draco’s arse. After being previously denied he was eager to feel if it was as firm as it looked. He was not disappointed.

Harry squeezed and Draco thrust, and soon they built a rhythm. Harry’s own hard cock had made itself known minutes before, and just the idea that he was rubbing his prick against Draco’s had him close to coming. Draco seemed to sense his urgency, and sped up, his hands tangling in Harry’s messy dark locks as he gasped and moaned into Harry’s mouth.

“Oh, fuck!” Draco cried out, and he shuddered in Harry’s lap, a warm wet spot spreading down his trousers. Harry needed just a bit more, and he whined in need, pleading with Draco to finish him off. Draco seemed to know exactly what he needed, and reached down to palm him through his trousers. Before applying pressure, Draco glanced up at Harry with a question in his eyes. Harry nodded quickly, and Draco began to stroke while pinching Harry’s nipple through his t-shirt with the other. Soon enough, Harry was messing in his own pants, the orgasm washing over him like no other in his experience.

They came down gently, Draco resting his forehead against Harry’s shoulder while he composed himself. Harry gently ran his hands up and down Draco’s arms, wondering how he would respond to his shirt being taken off.

“Do you want to go to the bedroom,” he whispered.

Draco pulled back and sighed.

“I do but I don’t.”

Harry was perplexed. “Was it not good?”

“Oh, Harry. That’s not it. It was… very good. Unexpected but welcome. Not how I planned to spend my night at all. And that’s just it. I still think we should take it slow.”

“That wasn’t very slow,” Harry bit out, unable to keep a slight defensive tone out of his voice. Did Draco want him or not?

“Frotting and fucking are quite different things, for me" Draco replied. “Taking someone to my bed, being naked, that’s extremely intimate. I want us on the same page.”

“I am! On the page. The same page. I mean, I told you I want to be with you-”

“I know you did.” Draco extricated himself from Harry’s grip and slid gracefully from his lap. “And I’m not doubting you. But this has been very fast, and two weeks ago you didn’t even accept what I did for a living. I know you rush into things, but I’m not like that anymore. I’d appreciate it if you could give me some more time before we take that step.”

“I -” Harry wanted to say that they didn’t need time, that they had known each other since they were eleven and either they wanted to be together or not. Part of him even wanted to accuse Draco of being a tease. But the better part of him, the one that had listened all these weeks to Draco telling other people to be honest, to listen to their own feelings, could see that Draco was only taking his own advice, and Harry had to respect his boundaries.

He rose to stand beside Draco. “If that’s what you need.” He paused, unsure if he should admit what was on the tip of his tongue, then deciding to go for it. “I think whatever is between us has the potential to be really amazing, Draco. So let’s get it right.”

Draco seemed inordinately pleased. “I feel the same, Harry.”

Harry leaned in to kiss him on the cheek, and Draco laughed. “You made me come in my pants, you can kiss me goodnight. But I do need to go clean up, and so do you.”

The kissed softly but deeply for a few moments before the stickiness in Harry’s trousers began to feel unpleasant. They parted with a promise to owl later in the week.

Later, as he showered off the remnants of his spectacular orgasm, Harry thought back over the night. He knew he didn’t need to cajole Draco into taking things any faster. They would go forward at whatever pace felt natural and comfortable for both of them. But he also wanted to make sure Draco knew for sure that Harry wasn’t ashamed of him, and that he understood why Draco’s program was so important - not to push him, but to reassure him. And there still remained the problem of that article. Harry didn’t care what people thought of him, it was true. But he also knew that his silence on certain issues was sometimes taken as acceptance, or had been in the past. This whole thing was bigger than just he and Draco’s relationship.

So it was without any ulterior motive that Harry swallowed his reservations and composed a short owl to Rita Skeeter the next morning.

***

Rita Skeeter’s owl returned so fast Harry wondered if she had cast some sort of (likely illegal) spell on it.  

She requested a meeting; Harry immediately said no. She requested a Floo interview; he agreed on the condition he would have a written record of the questions as asked and answered. What he was offering, in no uncertain terms, were statements that he expected to be published in their entirety with no editing. He would be keeping the copy of the parchment for himself to compare in case she got any ideas. Rita wasn’t stupid - unedited comments from Harry Potter were better than nothing.

Harry really couldn’t stand her, and it grated on him to reward her after the trash she had already printed. But she had started this, and more people would read further additions if they came from Rita herself. He knew her opinions changed as fast as the weather, so it was up to her: would she ingratiate herself to him by agreeing publicly or or attempt to create more controversy? It was a chance Harry would take.

The editors at the _Prophet_ must have worked overtime, because the morning edition was arranged to make space for the article with Harry’s responses.

 _Just yesterday this reporter was contacted by Harry Potter himself, with a request for an audience. He wanted to address recent rumours that he has become involved with some of the more unsavoury characters who shape our world today. Obviously well aware of the reach of the_ Prophet _, Mr. Potter chose his interviewer wisely. Our conversation follows verbatim._

She’d made it sound as if they met in person, but that wasn’t the worst fabrication she could come up with, he supposed. His main concern was whether she had kept her promise to keep her editing pen out of it.

_Rita Skeeter: You recently appeared on the WWN interviewed by Miss Daphne Greengrass. Was this a favour to a friend? A business decision? Were you somehow forced to comply?_

_Harry Potter: Daphne doesn’t have anything on me, if that’s what you are asking. The interview was meant to cast light on issues that matter to me, such as the charities I support. I do consider Daphne a friend now, but she was not yet at that time._

All true, and with no mention of George’s original pleading that Harry talk to Daphne.

_Miss Skeeter: Your association with her begs the question: Do you support the other content now being aired on WWN? Specifically the vulgar comedy or lewd advice shows._

_Mr. Potter: I know both of the the shows you’re referring to, and think they both have a place. They’re on late, and people can choose to listen to them or not. I also think the outrage over frank sexual talk is misplaced, because in this instance it’s educational._

_Miss Skeeter: Do you you believe it is the job of media to educate? Wouldn’t that be better done at home, or at school?_

_Mr. Potter: It obviously isn’t being done, because the people who call the WWN are adults. I’m a much more recent graduate of Hogwarts than you, and I can tell you I didn’t learn anything they discuss on Intimacy Issues._

Harry had not been able to resist calling Rita old in a roundabout way.

_Miss Skeeter: There are people who would say moving away from traditional values in our society can only weaken us, and brings us closer to Muggles. There are also those who worry that we are changing too quickly after the war._

_Mr. Potter: I can’t imagine how being honest and unashamed about ourselves makes us Muggle. And it’s been ten years. Also Daphne comes from a traditional Pure-blood family, and she seems to reconcile everything just fine._

_Miss Skeeter: Draco Malfoy also comes from a traditional Pure-blood family, and a rather notorious one at that. Does he feel the same as Miss Greengrass about changes in the Wizarding World? Has your involvement with him coloured your feelings on this matter?_

_Mr. Potter: I couldn’t tell you how he feels. I won’t comment on Draco Malfoy, other than to say the past is behind us and Draco is my friend._

_Miss Skeeter: Like Daphne Greengrass? Are you friends with her sister as well?_

_Mr. Potter: I would say so, yes._

_Miss Skeeter: How does she feel about your romantic involvement with her ex-boyfriend?_

_Mr. Potter: That’s just another way to ask me about Draco and I, and I already said I wouldn’t comment._

_Miss Skeeter: Did he ask you not to speak about him?_

_Mr. Potter: No, but I didn’t ask him if I could._

_Miss Skeeter: Do you need Mr. Malfoy’s permission to speak to me?_

_Mr. Potter: Of course not. But I don’t have his consent to divulge anything about he and Astoria, or his opinions on myself or any of the topics you brought up in that last article. I’m only here to give you my own response to it. That’s something else people talk about on Intimacy Issues, you know. Consent._

_Miss Skeeter: Well, that’s in a very different context._

_Mr. Potter: It’s really all part of the bigger picture though._

_Miss Skeeter: Are you more of a big picture person these days, do you think?_

_Mr. Potter: I hadn’t thought of it that way, Rita, but maybe I am._

_Miss Skeeter: Will you turn your focus to these issues publicly?_

_Mr. Potter: I’m going to stay involved with the causes I’ve supported in the past. I don’t know if I’m the person to lead the push to more openness in our culture, because I still struggle with it myself. I grew up with a lot of secrets around me. But I am absolutely opposed to any censorship laws. If someone wants to argue against this ‘code of conduct’ that has been proposed, I’ll back them._

_Miss Skeeter: So you disagree with the stance the_ Prophet _has taken. I think it’s clear from your demeanour that you’re unhappy with the article I published the other day. Are you perhaps in favour of censoring unpleasant information about yourself?_

 _Mr. Potter: As much as I hated that article - and most of your insinuations were wrong, by the way - no, I don’t want to put a gag on you or the_ Prophet _. I think it should be clearer the things you write are your opinions and not presented as facts._

_Miss Skeeter: Your dislike of our paper is rather legendary, I’m afraid. How can we be sure?_

_Mr. Potter: Look, I’m not stupid. I know people buy the paper when I’m in it. But it’s no wonder I baulk at giving interviews when you toe the line of being accused of libel. Younger people don’t buy the paper as much, they listen to the radio for news or turn to Muggle things like television for entertainment. So you have to say things your older readers want to hear to keep them around. But maybe you should consider working with people like Daphne instead of against her, if your bottom line is the only thing that matters._

_Miss Skeeter: I like to think I have people’s best interests at heart, Harry, not just the_ Prophet’s _numbers._

_Mr. Potter: If you like to think that, Rita, then try to show it. It’s not in people’s best interest to hide their questions and desires behind shame._

_And there you have it, dear readers.  While I can tell you that I do continue to believe in our traditional values, I also cannot help but wonder if Mr. Potter is right, and that it is time for us to allow open conversations on topics that were previously taboo. The_ Daily Prophet _has always valued honesty, after all._

So she hadn’t been able to resist her own little dig at Harry, who’d called her a liar in the past, and she’d hedged her bets with both sides. Still, there were no edits. Harry also remembered her expression on her face, green in the firelight of his Floo, when he’d mentioned people listening to the radio instead of reading the paper. If Rita Skeeter only cared about one thing, it was Rita Skeeter - and if catching up with the times kept sales of the _Prophet_ up, Harry was pretty sure they wouldn’t fight against Daphne anymore.

_***_

Despite her earlier protests, it was obvious that Hermione had not honoured their boycott of the _Prophet_ , because at lunch her worried face appeared in Harry’s Floo.

“Harry, what on earth is going on? Did you _voluntarily_ talk to Rita Skeeter? Where have you been all weekend? Why haven’t Ron and I heard from you? What happened between you and - ”

“Everything is fine, I swear. Or it will be. I think.”

“I knew you’d been talking to Malfoy, but dating him? Where is this coming from? Oh, Harry, I know you were obsessed with him all those years ago…”

“That was an entirely separate situation. And nowhere in that article did I say we were dating.”

“No, but as soon as Ron read the first one, where Skeeter said you had a ‘lover’s spat,’ he asked George what was going on and heard all about your double date. And then _I_ had to hear all about it from Ron. Repeatedly. We both had a long day Friday, but Saturday I tried to get a hold of you. Where were you?”

“I was at Draco’s.” Her eyebrows flew up.

 _“Draco?_ Merlin, you’re serious about him, aren’t you? At Teddy’s party you weren’t even sure you should have invited him!” She looked like she was about to charge through the Floo.

“You said he was different!” Harry protested. “He is!”  
  
“This isn’t really about Malfoy, Harry. It’s about you. This is rather sudden, you have to admit.”

“It’s weird!” Harry heard Ron’s voice in the background.

“It’s erratic behaviour,” Hermione added.

“It’s just… we get along so well.”

Ron’s voice echoed from the Floo again. “Who are you and what have you done with Harry?”

“I can’t talk to you like this,” Harry complained. “Are you both in your office at the Ministry? I’ll come through.” Hermione sighed and stood aside for Harry to step through the fire.

There were two chairs in front of Hermione’s desk, but none of them sat down. Ron stood by the door in full Auror robes, obviously on his lunch break, and Hermione crossed her arms and stared at Harry as he entered the room and leaned against her desk.

“Look, I’m sorry I haven’t really kept up with the two of you the past few weeks. It’s been a little crazy.”

“I’ll say. I know I’ve been busy since my promotion, but I didn’t expect to open the paper and find out Malfoy’s your new boyfriend!”

“And all those things you told Rita Skeeter.” Hermione chimed in. “That doesn’t sound like you.”

“Because I’m a prude?”

Hermione shook her head. “Because you’re so private.”

“I didn’t really tell her details about my life. I just disagree with her about censorship. And she drug me into the discussion with that first article. I like Daphne. She’s my friend now and I wanted to stick up for her. And you’d better get used to it, Ron, George is really taken with her.”

“Look, George and Greengrass is weird enough. You and Malfoy - that’s beyond insane, it is.” Ron looked bewildered.

“You can ask Hermione, she’s spoken to him. He’s not a prat anymore. You missed Teddy’s party, but he was fine there.”

“I said I’d seen him around, not that we had a deep conversation. And at the party, he was polite to me, yes, but Harry. This is still Draco Malfoy. Even if he isn’t as vile as he used to be, what on earth do you have in common enough to be involved romantically?”

Harry tried to explain as best he could. “He’s funny, and he’s charming, and he stands by his friends. Whenever we get to talking, time just flies by. He’s bloody fit,” Harry added, remembering a few nights ago when he finally got to hold Draco in his lap. Ron made a distressed noise at the dreamy expression that came over Harry’s face.

“And he’s trying to do some good in the world,” Harry continued. “I think it’s admirable.”

“What kind of good?” Hermione asked sceptically.

“I wasn’t just defending Daphne in that interview. Draco works at the station, too. He runs that sex advice show Rita had such problem with, _Intimacy Issues._ ”

“No!” Ron gasped. “ _Malfoy_ is the ‘King of Kink’?!” Harry blinked. He hadn’t heard that episode.

“It’s a terrible name for a program,” Hermione said abruptly, shock written on her face.

“Well, take it up with Robert, on both accounts. But Draco is really doing something important. I didn’t think so at first, and we argued about it, but I get now. And I know it seems out of nowhere to you two, but I’ve spent a lot of time with him the past few weeks and… I want to see this through.”

“Are you bored, mate? I told you there’s always a place in the Aurors for you.”

“And you also know why I didn’t join in the first place,” Harry said testily.

Hermione put a hand up to silence them both. “Don’t start on that, Ron. You don’t even mean it.” She paused thoughtfully. “I don’t disagree with your stance on censorship, Harry. I’ll certainly never stand in the way of knowledge. And that show is on late at night, so there shouldn’t be any watershed complaints.”

“Exactly.”

“But Harry, this isn’t just a way to impress Malfoy, is it? Because people are going to look to you for guidance, now that you’ve come out so publicly in support.”

“No,” Harry insisted. “I think it’s right. I don’t want to be the face of the issue or anything, but… you know, I’d never even thought about most of that stuff?”

“Why would you?” Ron questioned. “It’s all about ropes and paddles and… stuff…” He trailed off as both Harry and Hermione gaped at him incredulously.

“Ok, so I only ever heard one episode.”

Harry sniggered. “King of Kink. Oh my god, Robert is actually brilliant. But seriously,” he continued in a more determined voice. “It’s not all about bondage and positions. There’s medical questions, and dating advice, and… Not just things you want to say yes to, but when you want to say no.”

Harry waited as his friends exchanged a look. After ten years together they had perfected the art of the silent conversation. Finally Hermione seemed to relax.

“Alright, Harry. You do understand why we were worried?” Harry ducked his head in acknowledgement.

“There’s only one thing for it,” Ron sighed. “You’ll have to bring him around to meet mum.”

***

The second game of the World Cup would be coming back to home turf for the Harpies. Harry, Ron, Hermione and George were taking advantage of Ginny’s free family tickets that Saturday; Friday night there was a pre-match party at the Weasley’s.

Harry and Draco had enjoyed a picnic lunch on Wednesday, and Harry had extended him an invite to the party. After nothing dire had happened at Andromeda’s, and George’s generally pleasant attitude, Draco figured it was alright to set foot in Weasley territory.

There was nevertheless an apprehensive look on Draco’s pale face as he stepped through the Weasley’s Floo, followed closely by Daphne. Harry was waiting for him alone.

“Did you come straight from work?” he enquired at seeing them together. Daphne, startled, looked around nervously. “Don’t worry,” Harry reassured her, “everyone is outside right now. And only George, Ron, and Hermione know.”

“Harry can keep a secret. I seem to remember him sneaking about in school enough.” Draco laughed and leaned in for a kiss, which Harry was happy give him. Daphne rolled her eyes.

“You’re disgusting when you’re infatuated, Draco. I’m grateful you didn’t stay with Astoria; I don’t think I could have endured seeing such a display with her.” They all walked outside, and her eyes lit up as she spotted George out on the lawn. “Please excuse me, I have my own displays to attend to.”

Harry and Draco hung back for a moment. “I know I already know everyone here, but this still seems unfamiliar,” Draco admitted.

“May I hold your hand?” Harry requested. At Draco’s assent, he laced their fingers together.

“Just be yourself. We’ve all grown up. And if you need something to talk about, try Quidditch.”

As it turned out, Draco’s worry was unfounded. The _only_ topic at the party was Quidditch. Ginny had been called to a last minute strategy session, leaving them without the guest of honour, but all the Weasleys were so proud of her they only wanted to speculate about the upcoming game. Draco, with his sharp insights into Quidditch strategy, was welcomed into the conversation easily.

Harry was relieved. He knew that Draco had changed for the better, and that Molly, Arthur and the rest trusted Harry and only wanted him to be happy, but still. Then at one point in the evening, Ron smiled knowingly at Harry, who suddenly understood that he must have talked to his family beforehand. Harry’s throat felt tight; he had such amazing friends.

“Why aren’t you sitting in the fancy boxes, Harry?” Lee asked at one point in the evening. He had come back from his holiday to find the furor caused by Rita, Harry, and all the rest, and immediately dove into the controversy head first. Harry was glad, because Lee was far better being a spokesman than he was.

“Ginny only had three box tickets,” Harry shrugged. “The team needs to keep most of them for sale to make money. She said she couldn’t possibly play favourites among us, so we all got the cheaper family seats. It’s fine with me.”

“Yes, well… speaking of…” Draco drew two shining tickets from his trouser pocket. All eyes were suddenly on him.

“Did you - did you buy those?” Harry stuttered. The World Cup had been sold out for months, before the teams were even chosen.

“No. These are Weasley’s box tickets.” All eyes were suddenly on Draco. “She gave them to Pansy.”

There was silence as every Weasley waited for an explanation. “Pansy is the editor of a fashion magazine that Weas- that Ginny was in recently. I can’t tell you why exactly, but she said she wanted Pansy to come back to England to see the game.” Harry recognised a slightly shifty look in Draco’s eyes that said he knew more than he was letting on. It didn’t slip past Ron, either, who put two and two together.

“Not you too, Gin!” Ron wailed. “That’s one Slytherin too many!”

“But why do you have them?” Harry didn’t think Draco and Pansy spoke anymore.

“She sent me an owl after Skeeter’s articles. Said she missed me, that she regretted losing touch. I figure it’s been a good time for new beginnings,” he added, smiling at Harry. “I think these were a peace offering.”

“So you’re going to take Harry,” Ron stated with a bit of envy in his voice.

“Actually, I thought Arthur and Molly might appreciate seeing their only daughter fly for England.” He held the tickets out to Molly, who teared up.

“That’s - oh - you’re so thoughtful!” For a moment, Harry thought she might embrace Draco, who obviously feared the same thing and tensed up. But she simply shook her head.

“I think I’d rather be with my boys, if it’s all the same to you, dear. And I doubt your… friend expected to be sharing a box with us.” Draco withdrew his hand hesitantly, but Molly smiled kindly. “The thought _is_ appreciated. But you should take Harry. It will be nice for you two.”

“I was happy to sit with you,” Harry protested. The Weasleys knew he could afford his own tickets when they had been on sale, after all.

“Nonsense. Go be with your sweetheart.” Both Harry and Draco blushed.

And Harry knew how much Draco liked to see him blush.

***

  


_Six Months Later_

  


“Wake up, Wizards and Witches! It’s Mad Morning Marcus, and I have all the newest hits for you!”

Harry groaned and rolled over. Whose idea had it been to set an alarm charm on the wireless? Oh right, his. Draco preferred to sleep in. Casting a _Tempus_ , Harry realised he’d been too generous with the alarm and didn’t need to actually be out of bed for another half an hour.

Turning back over, he reached out for the warm body next to him. Draco had been staying over at his place so often that Harry was gathering the courage to suggest they find a place together.

It was these kind of lazy mornings Harry enjoyed. He spooned up against Draco and began to pet him just the way his boyfriend liked, slowly stroking up and down his sides until Draco began to make soft, happy noises.

“Good morning,” Harry whispered, nipping his ear and watching happily as Draco shivered.

“Did you wake up in a mood?”

“Mmm-hmm. If you aren’t, I can take care of myself in the shower. I know you like to have a lie-in.”

Draco stretched and turned to look back at Harry. “I’m about halfway there. Keep touching me and I’ll let you know.” Harry nodded and continued to caress Draco, reaching around to flick his nipples. They continued this way for a few minutes, Harry lightly pressing into Draco to soothe his erection but not pushing for anything more, until Draco finally reached up to take his hand.

It could go either way; Harry was notoriously randy when he first woke up but Draco sometimes couldn’t be bothered. Harry always waited for him to decide how the morning would go.

Today he was in luck: Draco took his hand and moved it down his own body until they were palming his cock together. Harry moved against Draco’s arse now in earnest. Neither of them slept in clothes, so his cock immediately slipped in between Draco’s arse cheeks. Harry gasped at the sensation.

“Get the lube,” Draco said in a still sleepy voice, and Harry knew what he wanted.

Grabbing the conveniently placed lube from their bedside table, Harry squeezed out a very generous dollop and rubbed some of it over his cock. The rest he left on his hand, and reached down between Draco’s thighs to slick them up. He couldn’t resist rolling the balls he found there in his hand, feeling them begin to swell as he pulled on them gently. Harry then lined himself up and began to push his cock leisurely between Draco’s thighs.

It was wet and messy, just how Harry liked it. He loved the sounds his cock made as he thrust it back and forth between the tight space Draco’s legs made; he loved how his entire body was pressed up against Draco’s back, skin to skin; he loved holding on to Draco’s sharp hips as his boyfriend audibly wanked himself. Occasionally Draco reached down to give the head of Harry’s prick a quick swipe as the head popped through.

Morning sex never lasted long. Eventually Harry retreated a bit and reached down to take his cock in hand, pulling himself off with quick strokes until he was striping Draco’s back and arse with come. The sensation of being covered in Harry’s fluids was a major turn-on for Draco. He whined and sped up, wanking furiously as he arched his back and began to pump out his own orgasm across Harry’s sheets. Eventually he rolled over bonelessly, smearing the come on his back onto the bed underneath him. Harry leaned down to kiss him softly.

“I love when you do that,” he sighed into Harry’s mouth.

“You’re just lazy,” Harry teased in return. “You like me to do all the work.”

“I think my wrist got quite the workout, thank you.”

“Hmm. And now my laundry will get a workout, too.”

They peeled their sticky bodies out of bed and headed for the shower. Harry went first - Draco liked to take an intensely long time with his hair, and Harry had an early meeting that day at the Ministry.

Astoria was preparing legislation to put freedom of speech guarantees in the Ministry charter. She wasn't actually a member of government, but Hermione was assisting her and presenting. Together they would be nearly unstoppable. Still, a short statement from Harry couldn’t hurt things, he knew. The vote was next week and he was optimistic.

When Harry emerged from the shower he saw Draco standing naked by the window, leafing through the morning mail. “Take a look at this,” he said, throwing a magazine over to Harry. “Page 35.”

“Merlin!” Harry almost dropped the magazine. “Those are Gin’s tits!”

“Nothing you haven’t seen before,” Draco grinned wickedly. Harry knew he wasn’t actually jealous.

“Ron’s going to have Kneazles.”

“It’s not his call.”

It was Pansy’s magazine, _Modern Witches Digest._ “Body Positivity Issue!” the headline read. Sure enough, there were women of all sorts in the feature article - including Ginny, who was wearing her Quidditch leathers sans jersey. Her freckled torso and arms were solidly muscled. Harry knew that Ginny had often complained about being ‘built like a boy’ when she was younger, and he’d caught her frowning at herself in the mirror more than once. Now her bright smile beamed out from the pages of the centrefold.

“She looks happy,” Harry remarked.

“From Pansy’s last letter, everything seems to be going well with those two.”

Harry tossed the magazine back to Draco and set about getting dressed. When he finished pulling on his shoes, he made his way back over to Draco, who was sorting through his hair potions in preparation for a long soak in the tub. He tilted his lips up to Harry expectantly for a goodbye kiss.

“I think you have more beauty supplies at my place than at yours, now.”

“I can’t even remember where I left the French rose bubble bath.”

“Maybe we should think about combining them,” Harry murmured, dropping a kiss on Draco’s mouth before he could respond. When he pulled back, Harry saw wonder and love in his grey eyes.

“I’ll let you know how the meeting goes, ok? You can let yourself out.” Harry had come to know Draco well, and knew he would need time to think about such a big step. “Are you sure you don’t want to come?”

“It’s best I’m not seen on a meeting on the issue.” It was public knowledge that he and Harry were dating now, but Draco had still managed to keep his radio personality a secret.

“Of course.” Harry kissed him lightly one last time, and went for the door. “I’ll see you later, Professor of Love.”

He ran to the Floo, laughing at Draco’s indignant shout behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [Tumblr!](https://lower-east-side.tumblr.com/)
> 
> CONSENT FEST NOTES
> 
> I’d like the thank the mods for running this fest. There have been a lot of fascinating discussions in fandom about consent, both pertaining to the world of Harry Potter and in general. It’s my opinion that discussions of consent, in sexual and other contexts, are best fostered in an open environment where honestly is valued. In this fic I tried to look at a Wizarding World where discussions about sex, consent, and personal identity were being addressed without the shame that had surrounded them before, and their society’s reactions to that. Consent isn’t just “can I touch you there” - it involves many aspects of personal interactions, from children being raised with a sense of owning their own bodies, to physical assault, to outing people against their will.
> 
> Fic Notes:
> 
> Thank you prompter, for coming up with such a unique scenario! I hope you enjoyed my take on it. I worked in radio for 5 years (news and music, not sex advice, alas) so when I saw the prompt I jumped at it. 
> 
> Bed Music - instrumental tracks played underneath while the DJ is talking. Sometimes just called ‘beds.’
> 
> Back Announce - telling the listener what they’ve just heard ie “That was the Weird Sisters with a track from their new album. Before that, some music from Celestina Warbeck..” Etc.
> 
> Feedback - when the mic is picking up interference, often from the speakers, and causing a high pitched noise. If you call into a radio program and leave the radio turned up so the phone can pick it up, it causes feedback as well.
> 
> Crossfade - fading one track down and another up to create a seamless transition.
> 
> Watershed - the time of day when a broadcaster can air programs geared toward a more mature audience. In the UK this is 21:00 for television; BBC Radio does not have a fixed watershed and depends more on ‘editorial merit.’ In the US this is called ‘Safe Harbor’ by the FCC.
> 
> My only excuse for not including Lee in this fic more is that I’m not very funny, and couldn’t manage to write a bit for his show. So I sent him on holiday. Sorry, Lee. The idea for his Quidditch/comedy/jazz show format is from HenryMercury's excellent fic "Out and the Open" and is used by permission.


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